


I'm An Angel With A Shotgun

by twerkinshield



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Supernatural
Genre: Gen, In which Sam and Dean used to be Jaeger pilots, M/M, and Sam got sick so he becomes a scientist, and flirts with Gabriel, and they all save the world together, so Dean and Cas drift and flirt and are just cute and gross
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twerkinshield/pseuds/twerkinshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean used to be the best damn Jaeger jockeys this side of the Pacific ocean, until Sam was put out of commission due to radiation poisoning and Dean was sidelined to teaching the next young generation of pilots. But the world is steadily going to shit and the kaiju keep coming, so what's humanity's greatest hope for cancelling the alien apocalypse? Enter Castiel, a young and brilliant would-be Jaeger pilot who clashes with Dean at every turn... but somehow they're, drift compatible? Otherwise known as that time when a couple of washed up pilots, giant robots, and sarcastic k-scientists banded together to save the world and cancel the apocalypse!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal thanks to my dear Sarah (url: yellowcityheart) for beta'ing my fic to within an inch of it's life and for giving me ideas for future deliciously smutty chapters. I also would like to take this chance to say that I relied pretty heavily on the book for technical jargon and fancy engineering terminology, so if I get anything wrong please let me know and I'll change it immediately! Obviously neither Pacific Rim nor Supernatural are mine so I fully give credit where credit is due, I would highly recommend buying the Pacific Rim movie novelization to fully enjoy the fic and the movie! 
> 
> Cheers! :)

We always thought alien life would come from beyond our planet, and from the farthest reaches of space. Never did anyone think it would emerge from the depths of the Pacific Ocean. A fissure between two tectonic plates that housed a portal between dimensions: one that would simply come to be known as The Breach.

Sam and Dean Winchester were born in Kansas, USA. They moved in their early years to California so that their father – Marine John Winchester – could be closer to his newly stationed base. Their father always made sure to impress upon his young sons just how important soldiers are, and how they’re always needed to hold the peace and keep their citizens safe.

The boys grew up on John’s war stories and soaked them up like sponges, often spending hours playing at being warriors outside in the sunny Californian weather, while Mary looked on fondly from her gardening. Dean, ever the protective elder brother, always looked to his father for advice and guidance, and became as much like his father as he could so as to protect little Sammy. Little Sammy who loved books and learning, science programs on TV instead of Saturday morning cartoons; little Sammy who wanted to be a lawyer or a doctor or an FBI agent when he grew up; little Sammy who hated fighting and violence but admired soldiers for being so brave. So, the Winchester brothers grew under the loving gaze of their mother, and the watchful eyes of their father.

And things would have continued on like that, had it not been for the Kaiju.

Dean Winchester was eight years old when the first kaiju made land in California, right on Venice Beach. Amidst all the screams from swimmers and civilians alike, it came through the Breach at eleven hundred hours local time. A beast as big as a skyscraper with a roar like thunder. And by the time that tanks, jets, and missiles took it down, six days and thirty-five miles later, three cities were destroyed and tens of thousands of lives were lost. Including their mother.

The house where she used to garden became nothing more than a smoldering pile of rubble, with her body crushed beneath the debris. And the park where Sam and Dean used to play at soldiers, became nothing more than a massive kaiju footprint, left as a scar on the face of the earth.

Some of the offensive missiles were tactical nukes. The kaiju – codename: _Trespasser_ – survived the first two strikes and was finally taken down by the third. The entire neighbourhood where the Winchesters had grown up became known as Oblivion Bay. So named after the complete desolation of any living structure or building for a five-mile radius, and for the uninhabitable nature of the now radioactive zone. But the monster was dead, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Until the Breach puked out another kaiju five months later, when the remaining Winchesters were holed up with other refugees in a neighbouring army base further up north. But this one headed for Hong Kong, and it was nuked to the point where the bombsite became an Exclusion Zone. The third kaiju came a little less than eight months after that, and Sydney was almost nuked to cinders. Each time the kaiju were taken down with nukes the radiation made large swathes of the Pacific Ocean completely uninhabitable. John Winchester and his sons sat by the tiny television in the army base’s rec room and watched as more and more of the earth was poisoned in an effort to keep it from being destroyed by the invading beasts.

Soon, foodstuffs became scarce and provisions became a luxury. Safe houses became overcrowded and under-funded, and the threat of the kaiju loomed ever present on everyone’s minds.

Dean remembers the day he lost faith in the military. Sitting quietly with Sammy in the rec room watching the television for the latest news on a kaiju attack. He remembers the bright sunburst of hope blooming in his chest at the arrival of the marines and of the army. But he never forgot the way his heart dropped when an entire battalion of marines was crushed beneath the clawed foot of a massive Category-III kaiju. He never forgot the way that tank shells, Hellfire missiles, and grenades didn’t even make a scratch in the armour of the beasts. He remembers losing all hope in the heroic stories his dad told them, when Sammy asked him when the _real_ soldiers were going to get there to save the day. He knew he didn’t have an answer for that. So his answer was silence.

But then humanity decided to fight back. The world came together, everyone throwing aside old rivalries and pooling resources and knowledge in an effort to save the world, and thus, the Jaeger program was born. The program created a way for two human beings to merge their brains into a single organic supercomputer more powerful than had ever been seen before. The best engineers, the brightest scientists, and the most competent warriors from around the globe came together to create the only defence against the aliens that didn’t resort to nukes: robots. Thirty stories tall, armed to the teeth with weaponry and complex mental systems, robots intimately linked to their pilots’ neurological commands as if they were an extension of the pilots’ bodies.

John Winchester constantly moved his boys along the Pacific coast in order to keep them under the best protection the military bases could offer. However, the war was taking its toll on everyone. His temper grew shorter; he spent less time with his sons, and he spent more and more time in the depths of whatever bottle of cheap alcohol he could afford. When John wasn’t drinking, he was working out, pushing himself to be the strongest and fastest soldier, all in the hopes of gaining a place in the prestigious Jaeger Program.

Both Sam and Dean remember the day when their father’s application to the program was rejected. They remembered the way his bottle of alcohol shattered against the wall of their room, the smell of cheap whiskey on his breath, and the enraged ranting about the fools running the Jaeger Program. The big red “ _DENIED_ ” stamped on all his papers, and the neat handwriting at the base of the application, “ _Excessive alcohol consumption not beneficial to the program. Suggest treatment and re-application at a later date_.”

So John Winchester pushed his sons, aggressively driving them and drilling them about how to be the proper soldier. How to follow commands, how to be the fastest, how to be the cleverest soldier, and how to be the last man standing.

He stopped being a father to Sam the day Sam brought home his Stanford acceptance letter. Regardless of the full ride to the Jaeger and K-Science program, John Winchester wanted a marine, not an egghead. So Sam disappeared for four years, leaving Dean to bear the brunt of their father’s disappointment and rage. Dean tried his damned hardest to give Sam the space and time he needed to graduate, by keeping their father’s rage and disappointment focused on him.

Sam graduated four years later with full honours and a double degree in Jaeger Engineering and Kaiju Biology at the same time _Scissure_ decided to decimate a large portion of Anchorage. Dean, having spent those past four years taking as many classes the local college would offer in engineering, had been tasked to the design and construction of the Mark I Jaegers. Sam returned, presented his diploma to his father, got a beer bottle thrown at his head for his troubles, and went to persuade Dean to join the Jaeger Academy.

They left the next day and never looked back.

_The vast sandbox is filled with a complex sandcastle of Sam’s making._

The sounds of Jaegers being built and put together in the distant hangars of the pilot academy building could always be heard in the classrooms. Sam and Dean, like all the other hopeful would-be pilots, were paired off in order to strengthen the bond that would one day become a neural handshake.

_The sound of their mother baking cookies in the kitchen and the warm scent drifting throughout the house._

They excelled in the physical exercises; courtesy of the intense training they received from dear old dad. They quickly outstripped their other classmates and soon enough the name Winchester became a whispered prayer amongst all the students. The most eligible pair of cadets the academy had seen yet.

_A splash of pain the first time Dean skinned his knees while playing soldiers._

Of course not everyone was as taken with the academy’s golden boys. The Winchesters were constantly acquiring different cuts and bruises and sprains that they explained away through clumsiness. The medical staff could never prove anything though, so they kept their mouths shut and their eyes peeled for any suspicious activity. But the more skilled the brothers became, the bruises and other injuries became less and less until one day they stopped appearing. Instead, the medics were left to patch up other cadets, ones who, when questioned about the nature of their injuries, would say nothing and avoid eye contact. And the Winchesters were once again at the top of the food chain.

_Sammy’s laughter drifting out of the living room while watching a science program on TV._

Sam will forever cherish the look on Dean’s face the first time he successfully rotated through all fifty-two of the Kwoon stances in perfect fluidity and Marshall Bobby Singer himself clapped him on the shoulder and simply said, “You’ll make a fine ranger one day son”, and walked off. Dean had had this stunned look of awe and unbelievable happiness on his face, and had drifted around on a cloud of contentment for the entire afternoon afterwards.

_The feel of Sammy’s sweaty palms as he waits hand-in-hand with Dean on his first day of school._

They weren’t completely without their own fights however, especially when it came to girls. The fight over who would take Jessica Moore to the local band gig almost came to blows until she ended things by asking Sam out herself. Dean, true to his stubborn personality, sulked for the appropriate amount of time before getting back up on the horse, so to speak. Sam remembers the looks of pure astonishment and outright confusion from the other cadets as he strode into class on Monday morning with streaks of neon pink dye in his hair. Dean had a bit more trouble with the itching powder in his underwear though.

_The softness of mom’s hair as she hugs her boys close on Christmas morning._

The Christmas morning of their second year in the academy was a subdued affair. A Category IV kaiju – named _Mutavore_ – having attacked Sydney the day before, and had only been taken down once Ranger Rufus Turner had piloted _Blue Steel_ on his own, after his co-pilot had suffered a seizure and collapsed. News had gotten around the academy quickly, spreading like wildfire, especially the news about the solo ride. No one should be able to handle that kind of mental overload, right? No _normal_ person anyways! It’s all a fake or a hoax, no one can do that!

The Winchesters had listened to all the inane gossip weaving it’s way through the mess hall, and simply ignored it in favour of exchanging their customary Christmas gifts, Winchester style. Dean got a classic car magazine and some beef jerky, and Sam received an old copy of _Treasure Island_ and a bag of jellybeans. The eggnog was weak and the rum was terrible, but that Christmas had been one of the best ones they ever had.

_The blurry colours on the TV in the base’s rec room playing Saturday morning cartoons for the other children._

The day the Winchesters got called into the Director’s office was fraught with nerves and tension. There was a Mark III Jaeger fresh off the production line and did they want the chance to pilot it together? Of course they did.

They were moved to the fast track training program the very next day, and within the month they were on their way to their new Jaeger, _Black Betty_. Being deployed to Anchorage wasn’t so bad, even with frigid temperatures and the complete lack of anything to do. So they got used to entertaining themselves in other ways when not defending the earth from kaiju invaders. Their prank war escalated to the point where Marshall Singer threatened to put them in solitary to stop the elaborate and often dangerous gags. It worked, mostly. Their antics just ended up becoming more and more subtle, and the technicians and scientists quickly learned to get out of the way, if they wanted to avoid being caught up in one of the infamous Winchester prank war.

_The sound of fireworks going off and the smell of gunpowder and the layer of dust covering everything in the wake of Trespasser._

After Anchorage they were deployed to Manila, where they took out _Reckoner_ and _Ceramander_. Then on to Peru to eliminate _Tentalus_. From there, they were sent to British Columbia to take care of a triple threat alongside the _Vampirate_ , piloted by Benny Lafitte and Viktor Henrickson, some old academy buddies. Together, the Jaeger teams took out _Bonesquid_ , _Atticon_ , and _Fiend_. After a few beers, some repairs, and more pranks, the Winchesters were sent off to their longest deployment overseas in Japan. During their two-year stay there they, and several other Jaegers, managed to take out _Yamarashi_ , _Hidoi_ , _Onibaba_ , and a dozen other kaiju kills.

By then, Sam wasn’t doing so well.

_The smell of alcohol on their father’s clothes after getting dinner in the mess hall._

It’s only after Sam collapses unconscious, mid-drift in a fight with a Category IV kaiju – codename: _Meathead_ – that Dean realizes something is very wrong. He barely manages to get the Jaeger, and his baby brother, away from _Meathead_ long enough for the other team to take over and take it down.

Piloting a Jaeger solo is something Dean prays that he never has to do again. The feeling of utter emptiness in his mind, the jagged gape in his psyche where Sam’s consciousness should be, feels like looking into the abyss. He soldiers through the sheer mental agony of piloting the Jaeger alone, but will never forget the way Sam’s mind just dropped into nothing, like a puppet with it’s strings cut.

_The insults and put downs spewing out of John’s mouth when Sam presented his acceptance letter. Dean’s overwhelming guilt because he said nothing._

It turns out that nuclear powered Jaegers aren’t the healthiest environment for human pilots. The radiation emitted by _Black Betty’s_ engine and the lack of updated shielding in the headpiece where the pilots drive, is the major downfall of the Mark III Jaegers.

The medics declare Sam unfit for further field missions due to radiation poisoning and fear of endangering missions, rather than out of fear of killing him. Sam ends up carrying a pack of tissues around with him at all times to stop the nosebleeds, and can feel the hot black bile twisting its way through his insides whenever he gets too close to the Jaeger bay. Even working as a technician on _Black Betty_ proves to be too taxing when he ends up on the floor coughing up thin streams of crimson blood.

Marshall Singer calls them both into his office later that day and, after apologizing for the state of Sam’s health, grounds them from active duty until further notice.

_The icy feeling that travels down his spine whenever dad looks at him. The knowledge that he’s not good enough, not smart enough, not fast enough to be the soldier dad wants._

The Winchesters end up being transferred back to the California academy, to provide instruction and training lessons for the newer cadets, and to be decorated soldiers put on the shelf to rot. Because their father is not allowed on the base, Dean goes to see him on a free weekend to check up on him, but he ends up regretting it immensely.

Halfway through explaining what has happened to Sam and their now deactivated status, John stands up, unsteady on his feet and nearly purple with apoplectic rage, and let’s loose on Dean with a ferocity that is, sadly, both expected and not out of the ordinary. He calls Dean worthless, useless, and a pathetic excuse for what a Jaeger pilot should be. He screams that Dean should’ve looked out for Sammy (but how could he when he didn’t know that Sam could even _get_ poisoned?) and that those shitty base doctor clowns are wrong and that all Sam needs to do is get back up into the saddle and soldier through it. Throughout the rant, Dean stands still and silent, simply taking all that is thrown at him and agreeing with every word. He feels the shame gnawing away at his insides, it’s the knowledge that he let Sammy get hurt. He feels bitter that he’s been grounded and made useless, and he stamps down the sadness at never getting sympathy from the one person in the world who should be giving it. He recalls the steely look in Sam’s eyes as he refuses Dean’s offer to visit their father; he thinks about the colour of Sam’s blood on the white tissues, and he remembers the pitying look given to him by the medic examining Sam after his collapse.

Ever the good soldier, Dean doesn’t reply, except to stand at attention and ask permission to be dismissed, and then he leaves.

_The white-hot rage that shoots through his muscles whenever dad berates him for being more scientist than soldier. For being too smart and too clever to follow empty orders. The knowledge that he’s amazing but not what father wants._

Sam watches Dean leave the base to go visit their father. He sees the fleeting look of guilt and panic on Dean’s face before it smoothes away, leaving only bland acceptance. He thinks about the terrifyingly blank look on Dean’s face when the medic had told them about Sam’s prognosis. He remembers the defeated droop in Dean’s shoulders when they’re grounded and reassigned to tech duty.

Sam turns back to the newest student textbook on inner kaiju anatomy, wipes away some of the blood pooling at the corner of his mouth, and turns the page.

_The peace and quiet that followed them out of the base the day they left dad behind for something he could never be a part of._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is pretty short but I wanted to keep Sam and Dean's Academy experience separate from the rest of the fic. So enjoy the brotherly banter! :)

Sam packs away his things, the clothes, the books, and the few sentimental childhood items he owns. His single duffel bag of belongings looks sad and lonely amidst the empty space in his dormitory room. The call came for them at oh six hundred hours; he and Dean were to be packed off to the Hong Kong Shatterdome for reassignment as soon as possible. Not much else was given in the way of information until Marshall Turner called them to report to his office later that day.

Sam glances around the room once more, taking stock of the two beds, and Dean’s neatly packed duffel bag sitting at the end of his bed. His last class has been taught and dismissed and he’s just waiting on Dean to finish the last physical drill run through the senior obstacle course before they report to the Marshall. Sam carefully packs the photo of him and Dean smiling together at Venice Beach beside the full canister of anti-radiation medication, the pills jingling softly within their tin. He zips up the bag, sweeps under the beds for any missed items, and goes to collect Dean.

When he gets to the training gym Sam is greeted by the sight of Dean leading the senior cadets through all fifty-two of the Kwoon stances one last time.

“All right you little shits! The real world is out there and it’s pissed and hungry. I don’t care what you feel about the Jaeger program or that stupid fucking Heaven’s Gate project. What matters is that humanity survives, and sadly, you’re all we have left. I wish you all the best. Good luck soldiers.” Dean watches as the students salute him, and then he pivots on his foot and resolutely walks out the doors. He never looks back at them. Sam nods, a silent salute of his own, and ignores the pitying looks he gets in return. His history and condition being no secret to anyone on base.

“So, you ready to go see what shithole we’ve been reassigned to?” asks Dean sullenly.

“Oh come on, it can’t be _that_ bad.”

The look Dean shoots him would suggest otherwise. “Really? Cause last I checked we were on nobody’s VIP list and we don’t even get respect from the little shits in the academy because they think we’re washed up old deadbeats.” He shakes his head despondently, “So tell me what exactly could be so important as to call us to the Hong Kong Shatterdome.”

“Yeah okay you have a point there,” Sam pops a pill, dry, and feels the acidic burn of the radiation poisoning in his chest.

Dean glances at his pill bottle, always the worried big brother, “Hey, you okay there Sammy?”

“Yeah I’m fine Dean.”

“Right.”

They stop in front of the meeting room, debating whether or not to walk in or wait outside. They’re spared the choice when Rufus’ voice calls them in from outside in his usual gruff, no-nonsense tone. They step in and take a seat at the table.

“Well boys, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today.”

Dean looks up from his seat, clearly unimpressed with the whole situation. Sam interjects before Dean can get truly belligerent and says, “Yes sir, we’ve got all our things packed and our transfer papers have been processed.”

“Good,” Marshall Turner opens up the screen and boots up the projector sitting on the table. “Because we’ve got a problem, and that problem is snotty bureaucrats thinking they know what’s best for the world when all they want to do is save a pretty penny on expenses.”   

Dean’s brows furrow, “Sir?”

“We’re being shut down.” Marshall Turner glances up, his eyes hard and steely. “Two days ago I got out of a conference call with the world’s major leaders and they believe that the Jaeger program has run it’s course and exhausted it’s usefulness. So they’re giving us eight months of funding before they cut us off completely in favour of their shiny new Heaven’s Gate project.” The projector flares to life, illuminating the silhouette of a shiny new Jaeger sitting alone in a hangar. “So, instead of sitting you two here like old toys on a shelf, I’m bringing you to Hong Kong to set you up in the last resistance wave.” A few more clicks on the projector brings up another screen, this one showing a lab filled with white coats and tanks full of blue kaiju guts suspended in preservation liquid. “I’m sure you’re both aware that you won’t be drifting together.” Dean grunts and Sam shifts awkwardly. “So Sam will be placed in the K-Science division, alongside the last few kaiju scientists available to us, and your objective will be studying the fresh kaiju specimens in order to figure out how they’re evolving and how the Breach works.” Sam does an internal fist pump, excited to be working with kaiju biology and making good use of his time in Stanford. “Dean, on the other hand, will be reassigned a new drift partner.”

“No sir, no way am I getting into a Jaeger without Sam. I won’t do it.” Dean’s eyes are hard and flinty, anger bleeding out of the tension in his shoulders.

Marshall Turner scoffs, “You say that like you think you have a choice in the matter.” A new Jaeger pops up on the screen, jet black and lined with silver and navy blue plating along the edges, workers and technicians crawling all over the chest piece. “This is _Black Betty_ , or what’s left of her. I had her retrofitted with anti-radiation protection gear and new Mark V weaponry after your stint in Japan. She’s still running on analog and not digital though, ‘cause we can’t change all the systems. Once her upgrades are complete she will be your new Jaeger, and I already have someone screening and selecting potential candidates as we speak. Once a co-pilot has been chosen, “ Marshall Turner throws a sealed dossier onto the table, “You two will pilot _Angel Blade_ , your new Jaeger.”

“But this is bullsh-“

“That,” Interrupts Marshall Turner, “Is an _order_ soldier. Confirm command.”

Dean dutifully swallows back every vicious retort he’d been about to make, “Command confirmed.”

“Good.” He nods. “You’re dismissed. I expect you both on that jet with me at eighteen hundred hours tonight.”

“Yes sir.” Sam salutes.

Dean storms out silently in a black rage.

Sam walks a little behind Dean, giving him the space he needs, and thinks to the opportunities that await him in Hong Kong. Sam has never been too put off by anything science related – unlike Dean who hates all things kaiju and never ever wants to find out more about their gooey insides – and has always loved being able to pull something apart to find out how it works. The idea of having fellow scientists to work with and a wide variety of available kaiju specimens is a refreshing prospect and Sam flexes his fingers excitedly, remembering the feel of the scalpel in his hands back in biology class as a freshman at Stanford. The feeling of power, of control, and the insatiable curiosity of the human drive to learn and understand. Sam thinks back to the required kaiju biology classes they had to take at the academy and just how basic and unhelpful they were in the long run. Classroom information is one thing, and lab work another, but it’s a whole other kettle of fish when you’re in a robot the size of a skyscraper battling with one of the universe’s most massively destructive beasts you’ve only read so much about in your textbook.

Of course no one is as proficient in Jaeger tech as Dean. Dean, who thinks he’s just a dumb grunt, who thinks he’s only a jarhead fighter, who thinks he’s not smart enough to tangle with the vast alien mental facilities of creatures from another universe. Dean, who designed and retrofitted most of _Black Betty’s_ circuitry and weaponry before he was even accepted into the Jaeger program, who knows Jaeger tech so well that he could’ve easily led their tech team and done all the fighting at the same time. Sam understands basic engineering and the premise behind the nuclear power hidden in the chest piece of each Jaeger but he knows he could never explain the innermost workings of the robots, not even to a child. He remembers the late nights spent at the academy with Dean explaining their tech classes in the simplest way possible, and in turn, Sam explaining the basics of kaiju biology. They both did a passable job at exam time, but quickly returned to their field of expertise.

Dean storms into their room, kicks off his boots, and flops face down onto the clean mattress. Sam sighs and sits down near Dean’s feet.

“You know it’s for the best right?”

“Mmmmph.”

“We’ve _both_ been feeling useless here and you know it.”

“Mmmm.”

“At least you’ll be back in action and not dealing with hormonal teenagers and bitchy college kids anymore.”

“Mmhmm.”

“You smell funny.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just checking to see if you were listening.”

“Sam. Cut it out. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“What?” Cue innocent puppy dog eyes. “What was I doing?”

“Trying to be all inspirational and shit. It’s not gonna work ‘cause I know better.” Dean grunt and rolls over, flopping his socked feet into Sam’s lap and getting comfortable. Dean feels echoes of Sam’s embarrassment at getting caught flow through the residual drift between them. Even without the drift hangover, Dean knows when Sam is trying to deflect something. He’s far too easy to read and they both know it. “I’m just the blunt instrument dude, I’m not an egghead like those guys in R&D and I’m not a double threat like you. All capable of being smart _and_ a fighter at the same time, I’m just not built like that.”

“You know that’s not true-”

“But it is true. It’s why dad let you go off to college to get your degrees. It’s ‘cause he knew you were actually smart enough to do it, and he knew that I’m just his good little soldier. I’m better at taking orders than giving them, and everyone knows it.”

“Yeah,” Sam draws the word out, hoping to make Dean pay attention. “Which is why you’ve got the longest history of insubordination checks on your record than any other cadet in academy history.” He raises an eyebrow at Dean’s prone form.

Dean, true to himself, grins proudly at the accomplishment. Recalling meetings, detentions, and other forms of detainment. Sam knows how proud he is of being the most disobedient and unpredictable cadet to ever grace the academy’s halls. He also remembers sharing a few of those detentions with Dean, having been insubordinate right alongside him.

“Well it’s not like they’ll give you a newbie to drift with, not with so much on the line. I mean did you see how frazzled the Marshall was? There’s clearly something bigger he hasn’t told us yet.”

Dean frowns, “Yeah, I mean did you see how twitchy he got when that new Jaeger popped up on screen? You’d think the guy had seen a ghost or something.”

“Well,” begins Sam. “He _was_ there when I had my… episode. During our last mission in Japan… maybe he’s just nervous about that happening to you?”

“Yeah except I’m not important enough to merit that kind of attention.” Dean stretches his arms above his head, his t-shirt riding up to expose the angry scarring up the left side of his torso from the overload of his solo drifting. “It’s no skin off anyone’s nose if I’m not in a Jaeger. I can keep the tech crews in line just fine without piloting some fancy new one with a dumbass rookie.”

Sam sighs, exasperated at Dean’s woe-is-me schtick, “It may not be the skin off anyone’s nose but anyone can see that it’s a shitty idea to send _two_ rookies into last ditch combat against heavyweight updated kaiju. Personally I’d rather have someone I know and trust behind the wheel of something so new.”

“… Yeah I guess,” Dean sighs. “Well I’m gonna have a nap for a few hours before we have to get to the launch pad. Wake me up in time for dinner before we leave.” And then he unceremoniously shoves Sam off the bed by kicking him off. Sam squawks indignantly and makes a grab for Dean’s foot, holding on for dear life, and tickling the crap out of him.

Three hours later they’re grabbing their bags and walking out to the military jet waiting for them on the runway. Leaving California in their rearview mirror and the Pacific Ocean ahead of them.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Officer Castiel Jimmy Novak and K-Science Breach Physics Expert Dr. Gabriel Novak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted the relationship between Dean and Cas to get off to a rocky start. Not a bad one, but one that's got little bumps in the road. Builds up some nice UST ehehehe

The jet ride to the Hong Kong Shatterdome is awkward to say the least. Fourteen and a half goddamn hours of awkward silence and frustrated sighs, with the occasional scratch of paper as a page is turned. Sam spends the ride there brushing up on his knowledge of Category IV kaiju cardiovascular systems and neurological functioning while Dean flips through the complementary magazines on board. Sam briefly contemplates starting up a conversation to break the icy mood, but thinks better of it when he sees the stony look on Dean’s face that clearly discourages any thought of conversation. Sam tries to break the silence exactly once before Dean shoots him such a venomous look that even the other soldiers are stunned into shocked silence.

The pilot announces their arrival at the Hong Kong Shatterdome right on schedule and gives a brief – if useless, given the obvious view from outside – weather update. The skies are dark and stormy, thunderous purple clouds moving swiftly over the surface of the ocean. Enormous choppy waves break continuously against the bridge and landing pad near the service entrance to the Shatterdome. The entire facility stands, drenched and majestic, as a testament to the last stronghold of humanity and the single greatest hope of survival. It’s massive domed walls loom over the landing bay, curving higher than the largest recorded kaiju; helicopters and trucks and other service vehicles take up all the free space beside the loading docks; and a massive crane swings a shiny new piece of Jaeger machinery onto the cargo hold, on to trundle its way into the Jaeger hangar.

Sam feels a hot burst of excitement as he spots a specimen transport, holding what appears to be a large segment of a kaiju brain. He wonders how they could even afford such a choice cut given the lack of funding for the Jaeger program, let along the K-Science division. His musings are cut short, however, as the chopper begins its slow and careful descent onto the landing pad. Dean grabs his duffel and unbuckles himself from his seat before they even touch down; eager to explore what may very well be their last home on earth.

The helicopter doors slide open to the pounding drumbeat of rain sleeting mercilessly against the metal, drenching the Winchesters within moments. The first thing Dean notices upon clambering out of the chopper is a young man, with jet black hair and eyes the colour of kaiju blood, standing just beyond the spray of the helicopter blades underneath a navy blue umbrella. Dean watches the young man approach slowly, clutching his clipboard tightly to his chest, and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else at that given moment. Sam nudges him from behind and Dean realizes he’s stopped to stare at the newcomer. Dean moves forward slowly but steadily, intrigued by the steady gaze of this new and interesting person.  Marshalls Singer and Turner push past him on their way to greet the soldier, however Marshall Turner does not stop to chat, and merely claps Marshall Singer on the shoulder and continues on into the organized chaos of the Shatterdome. Marshall Singer stops in front of the stranger at the same time he opens up another umbrella for him. Sam immediately steps under Marshall Singer’s umbrella, leaving Dean to fit himself into the relatively dry space beside blue-eyes. Dean glances up at Sam, only to see Sam’s eyes crinkle in the way that means he’s not actually laughing but is totally laughing at Dean. Dean resolves to find out where Sam showers A.S.A.P. so he can use the good ol’ pink-dye-in-the-shampoo trick on him. Dean turns back to blue-eyes and grins smugly, trying to get a rise out of the serious young man.

“This,” Bobby gestures to the soldier beside Dean, “Is Castiel Jimmy Novak. He’s one of my best and brightest, and he’s the one responsible for the restoration of _Black Betty_ and all her new upgrades. Graduated from the academy at the top of his class at age eighteen and has been working on Jaeger tech since then… he’s also who I enlisted to screen and select your potential co-pilot candidates.”

Clearly unimpressed, Castiel turns to Bobby and quietly says, “ _Il n'est pas du tout ce que j'attendais_ ,” _He’s not at all what I expected._

Dean grins, so _that’s_ how he wants to play this. Well alright, two can play at this game. “ _Pourquoi? Suis-je encore plus beau que ce que vous avez attendiez?_ ”  _Why? Am I even more handsome than you expected?_ Dean hears Sam sigh, completely exasperated, in the background.

Castiel flinches, embarrassed at being caught, flushes crimson and averts his eyes. “My apologies, I did not expect you to be as proficient as you are with languages.” Dean blinks at the deep and unexpectedly solemn voice.  
“Yeah, you and every other person I’ve met in this world. But it’s kind of a given that we’d pick up a few languages here and there, what with how much we pilots travel around the globe,” he grins at Castiel, hoping to break the awkward tension.

Castiel blinks owlishly, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Sam coughs meaningfully, and Bobby leads them towards the enormous service elevators in the Shatterdome. The rag tag group of soldiers and scientists step into the elevator only to hear a frazzled, “WAIT! PLEASE HOLD THE DOOR!” So Sam dutifully places a firm palm over the doors’ sensors to keep them open.

Just as the silver doors slide fully open, a giant container is pushed haphazardly into the elevator, with little regard for its current occupants. Dean and Castiel are nearly bowled over by the cart, and Bobby has to press himself spread-eagled against the walls to avoid being crushed. The owner of the voice, a tiny man bundled into an enormous green parka with a fluffy hood, hops into the elevator and perches on top of the tank. A second man barely manages to squeeze himself alongside the tank.

“Thanks man! I totally thought I’d have to go to the secondary elevators all the way down the hall and then- Marshall Singer! I totally did not see you there I swear I meant to-“

Bobby swiftly cuts off the rambling, “Did you send your admissions report to Commander Harvelle?”

The second man looks like he’s ready to piss his pants in fear, “Um… not yet sir. Everything just got here and we had to wait for helipad clearance and-“

“Oh come on! Give us a break!” interjects tiny parka man. “The brain segment just got here and we’re soaked to the bone! It’s not like we could even write anything up out in _that_ weather.”

“Boys,” Bobby sighs, “This is Dr. Gabriel Novak and Dr. Chuck Shurley. Gabriel is Castiel’s cousin and they’re both a part of the K-Science division. Dr. Shurley is part of the kaiju biology research team and Dr. Novak heads the abstract mathematics and breach physics team. He’s also the man who wrote the code for the Mark I Jaegers.” Sam visibly perks up. So _this_ is the man he’s heard and read so much about! He glances over at Dean to try and gauge his reaction, but Dean is still focused on Castiel. Chuck flips his hood down to reveal a nervous looking young man with unruly brown hair and eyes that look more than a little wild. Gabriel casually swings his feet back and forth from his perch on top of the preservation tank and pulls his hood off. _Okay_ , thinks Sam, _That’s definitely not what I was expecting_. Gabriel isn’t young by any means, but his hair is messy, the kind of hairstyle that looks artfully windswept, like he just stepped away from a studio fan. His eyes are narrowed in Sam’s direction, clearly curious, and Sam wonders whether it’s genetically possible to have eyes the colour of sun through a glass of whiskey. Gabriel quirks the corner of his lips up to reveal the bright blue on his tongue from the lollipop hanging out of his mouth.

“So. Marshall,” he drawls. “Who exactly are these two _fine_ gentlemen?”

“This,” Bobby gestures to Dean, “Is Dean Winchester, one of _Angel Blade’s_ new pilots. And this,” he gestures over to Sam, ”Is his younger brother, Sam Winchester. They used to be _Black Betty’s_ co-pilots. Sam has actually been assigned to the K-Science biology team, so you’ll be working together a fair bit. So I want you to play nice. I don’t want HR on my ass again just because you can’t get along like responsible adults.”

“Hey! I resent that accusation!” Gabriel smirks. “Besides: you can only be young once, but you can be immature forever.”

Bobby scowls thunderously, “Well I don’t know if you chuckleheads have noticed, but we don’t really _have_ forever around here. So get your shit together.”

“Sheesh! No need to get so worked up about things!” Gabriel switches the lollipop to the other side of his mouth. “I’m just worried that we won’t get the full shelf life of these specimens, I mean it’s not like we have all the space in the world to put this baby in it’s own preservation tank.” Chuck hums in nervous agreement.

“Well have you tried bathing it in ice-cold ammonia?” Sam asks.

“No… why?” Chuck’s eyebrows furrow, irritated at missing something.

“The acidic properties of the ammonia stop the brain from decomposing as quickly in the oil-based preservation liquid. So it acts as a sort of sealant between the brain and the preservation solution.” Sam scratches his head, feeling awkward and geeky and like he’s back in highschool. “Ironically enough, it’s the preservation solution that does the least preserving here.”

“Smart _and_ sexy, I like that.” Gabriel carefully hops down from the tank, and then looks up at Sam. And then up and up and _up_. “Whoa. How’s the weather up there? I think you’re tall enough that we can just put a satellite on your head and call you our new kaiju detection system!”

Dean snorts unattractively while Castiel rolls his eyes, apparently all too used to his cousin’s antics. Sam just scowls. He thought he’d left this shit behind in highschool. All the taunts and jokes and barbs about his height combined with his insatiable lust for learning, had labeled him pretty quickly as a super geek in his younger years. Apparently that kind of shit follows you all through life. So, he decides to push back, just enough to show that he’s neither a pushover nor a gentle giant.

“I don’t know, how’s the weather down there? Maybe we can just use you as bait.” Sam grins like a shark. “You’d make a pretty good hors d’oeuvre for a kaiju.”

Dean throws his head back and flat out cackles. Even the corners of Castiel’s mouth twitches in amusement at the tables turning on his cousin’s teasing. Chuck covers his face with a hand, trying to stifle his giggles, while Gabriel’s smirk drops right off his face.

“Well now,” Bobby chuckles, “That’s not a sight you see every day.”

The elevator doors open and Gabriel winks at Sam, grabs the brain cart, and drags it out into the hallway without another word, Chuck hot on his heels and waving goodbye to Sam.

“Sam,” begins Bobby. “Just a fair warning: Gabriel is pretty vindictive, and with good reason. So I’d strongly advise trying to stay on his good side. He’s an excellent mathematician, but his social skills are sorely lacking.” Bobby turns to Castiel, “Alright kid, show them to their quarters and then give them the grand tour. I’ll expect all of you clean and fed tomorrow morning in the Kwoon training center at oh eight hundred hours. Once your co-pilot has been chosen, you’ll be briefed as to the nature of your mission.” The three of them nod, and then salute the Marshall. “Dismissed.” Bobby walks off without further ado.

Castiel turns on his heel and briskly begins to lead the way down a busy hallway.

“If you’ll please follow me, I will show you to your personal quarters,” he says. “Technically the mess hall is open twenty-four hours a day but hot meals are served at seven o’clock AM, noon, and five o’clock PM. Any time between or after those periods there are wafers, fruit, and fresh water available on the snack bar.” Castiel takes a sharp right, wheeling away from the large sliding metal doors that lead towards the tech crew areas. “All the pilot and K-Science quarters are on the second floor, so that the pilots can have quick access to their Jaegers if the need arises. You will both be staying in D-Block, close to _Angel Blade’s_ loading bay.” He turns to face Dean, “If you have any concerns about your crew’s performance Mr. Winchester, you can access them at any given time once you acquire the necessary codecard for the hangar.”

“Please, call me Dean.”

“You are a Jaeger pilot,” Castiel frowns, uncomfortable with the informality. “It would be inappropriate to address a superior in such casual terms.”

Dean shrugs, “Well do whatever you want to do, but Mr. Winchester is my father. And god knows no one wants _him_ around a Jaeger.” Sam snorts, the comment about their father going right over Castiel’s head.

“I… was under the impression that he was an active marine?”

“Your info must be a bit out of date,” Sam calmly informs him. “John hasn’t had a gun in his hands since before _Mutavore_ hit Sydney a few years ago.”

“Oh. I see. I shall have to update your personal profiles,” Castiel makes a note on his clipboard, scribbling furiously. “The psychological health team will need all the familial information you are willing to divulge.”

“Trust me, darling,” Dean drawls, “You won’t be getting much more than that.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow at the condescending term of endearment, but he holds his tongue as they continue on past the noise and smells of the crowded mess hall, everyone enjoying the last few crumbs of their breakfast. The trio passes through the narrow hallway leading away from the mess hall and past the tiny doors leading to the Jaeger hangar. Once they ascend the stairs to their quarters and dump their bags there, Castiel once again sets them off at a brisk pace, clearly irritated by their leisurely stroll behind him. One set of stairs, a short elevator ride, and two small corridors later, they arrive in the Jaeger bay.

The roof of the dome itself is maybe five hundred feet high at the peak, with slats set to open like the petals of a flower for easy access. From a central staging area, the epicenter of the room, seven huge tracks spread outwards. Six lead to individual Jaeger bays, high enough to accommodate the giant robots and their crews, all lined with platforms and catwalks to allow access to any part of the Jaeger at any given angle. The seventh track leads to the deployment pad, the long ramp used to launch combat-ready Jaegers into the ocean or to the waiting arms of the Jumphawk helicopters for a drop-off. Scattered carefully amongst the Jaeger’s feet are brightly painted lines demarcating where each crew’s territory start and stop, with men and women in jumpsuits and protective gear crawling over the outer plating of the massive machines.

Looking out over all the hubbub and chaos was the mezzanine that contained the Hong Kong LOCCENT command center, where the communication liaisons would coordinate between pilots and Marshalls as need be. The LOCCENT contained all the kaiju monitoring equipment as well as the tech that would keep periodic updates on each Jaeger’s current status; this was where the Breach was constantly monitored for any ominous activity. Looming underneath the giant bay windows of the LOCCENT was a huge old-fashioned flip clock. Twenty feet across with number panels the size of car windshields. Only instead of local time, it displayed days and hours instead of hours and minutes. Dean nudges Sam, and gestures up to the clock, confusion written on his face.

Glancing back, Castiel said, “That’s the war clock. We reset it after every kaiju attack, so it keeps everyone focused.”

“Seems kinda depressing,” grumbles Dean.

“It’s meant to be a reminder. Not a friendly broadcast.”

“How long until the next attack?” Sam interjects.

“About two weeks. If we’re lucky.”

Castiel hums, “Here we are,” He points upwards. “ _Angel Blade_ ”

 _She looks pretty good,_ was Dean’s first thought. _Even if it’s not really Black Betty_. The last time he’d seen her, her left arm had been scratched and shredded to hell and her paint had been all but scorched off by the acidic kaiju drool. The plasma canons had been fried and half of the Jaeger’s head had been torn off. Now she towered over him into the floodlit hangar, her jet-black hull flickering with the light cast by welding sparks, as if she were hot off the production line. “She looks brand new,” Dean said, his voice hushed in awe.

“Better than new,” pride bled out of Castiel’s every word. “She’s one of a kind now.”

“Absolutely _darling_ ,” said a familiar voice from behind them. The trio turns back to the speaker and they’re pleasantly surprised at the sight of good old Balthazar – their communications liaison from back in Japan – sauntering over to them with a wide grin splitting his face. “No alloys, forty engine blocks per muscle strand. Hyper-torque drivers in every limb and a new fluid synapse system. And this little bird,” he slings an arm casually around Castiel’s shoulders, “oversaw it all.”

“Balthazar!” cries Sam. They grab each other into a bear hug, with Dean joining in to grab onto the both of them in a crushing embrace. “Well it looks like the old gang is back together again,” says Sam, dimples lighting up his face. “So what’s been going on?”

Balthazar tosses a small white bottle into Dean’s hand. “Metharocin. It’s a new precaution courtesy of Marshall Turner. It’ll shield you from radiation while you’re out of your suit.” He nods up to _Angel Blade_. “Her exposed core is still fuel rod.”

Dean’s face falls, and Sam quickly jumps in to save the conversation from getting too awkward. “Well you win some and you lose some right?”

“Oh obviously love, well,” Balthazar shifts, and then stretches his arms above his head. “I’ve got to get back to LOCCENT. They’ve given me a new assistant that I’m supposed to train to be my successor in case I bite the bullet and he’s so bloody anxious! It’s like having a Chihuahua for a co-worker! So I’ll leave you to the rest of your tour. Cassie here will take excellent care of you babes, so don’t worry your pretty little heads about a thing. See you later boys!” and he sidles casually out into the hallway.

“Well I’m glad some things are still the same,” says Sam, relieved at seeing another friendly face.

“You mean at least some of the people we knew aren’t dead yet.”

“Wow. Thanks for that. You’re such a motivational inspiration to future generations. Jerk.”

Dean smirks, “Bitch.”

Castiel simply cocks his head to the side, confused at the sudden name-calling.

“I trust you can find your way back to your quarters. Now if you’ll excuse me I must go hand in my report to Commander Harvelle.” And with that, he sees himself out of the hangar.

“Wow. I wonder what crawled up his ass and died.”

“Oh my _god_ Dean, you’re so rude!”

“Oh shut up.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hella difficult to write because I'm so bad with spatial placements, which means the whole sparring sequence was super confusing for me ahaha! Enjoy!

At oh eight hundred hours Sam and Dean are dressed, fed, freshly showered, and waiting in the Kwoon training center for the co-pilot candidates to arrive. Dean, having grabbed one of the wooden hanbo hanging on the wall, is moving fluidly through the Kwoon stances and warming up on the padded floor. His muscles bunch underneath the black workout tank top Dean is wearing, and his socked feet pad softly along the mat.

Sam sits quietly to the side munching on a warm blueberry muffin pilfered from the kitchen staff, courtesy of his dimples and some quick sweet-talking. Dean finishes the final stance and flicks a sweat drenched sock at Sam’s head, nailing him right in the eyes. Sam squawks indignantly and flails around uselessly on the bench before launching himself at Dean in the training ring. After some awkward jumping and uncoordinated tackles, they get back into their groove, finding the familiar rhythm they used from their active jockeying days. Until Sam decides to play dirty and rugby tackles Dean to the floor, sits on him, and tickles Dean until he shrieks like a preschool girl on her first day of school.

Given their absolutely stellar luck with everything in life, this is the sight that greets Castiel upon walking into the room.  Castiel strides in with all the grace of a wild jungle cat, all smooth and controlled movements, graceful and lithe. Sam and Dean are all jerky, uncoordinated flailing, wasteful of the space and as loud as a herd of elephants in comparison. Dean is pinned on the floor, sprawled on his back like a butterfly pinned to a table, his shirt riding up to expose his lean stomach and his eyes crinkling with unrestrained mirth; his face flushed with exertion so that his freckles stand in relief to his pale skin. Sam is straddling Dean, his left leg pinning both of Dean’s legs to the floor and one of his hands gripping Dean’s wrists above his head so that the free hand can tickle him into submission.

Dean alternates between squealing and squirming to get away from Sam’s wandering hands, and doesn’t see Castiel enter the room. Castiel brings up his ever-present clipboard, his eyes scanning over the brothers, critically assessing strengths and weak spots. The bout ends abruptly when Dean unceremoniously dumps Sam back on his ass by starfishing his legs out and rolling them both over, dislodging Sam and giving Dean the space he needs to get back on his feet. Sam gets to his feet laughing so hard his face is flushed and pink from exertion, until his eyes widen, and he bends over coughing so hard he falls to one knee.

Dean is immediately by his brother’s side, helping to steady him and guide Sam to the bench where his pills are. By this time the candidates are all filing in and watching the brothers carefully, taking in every little detail. Dean only notices their audience as the whispers start picking up when Sam pops his anti-radiation pills, and he throws a half-hearted glare in their general direction. It’s at this point that Dean notices Castiel standing at attention with a disapproving frown marring his otherwise handsome features.

“Hey Cas, how’s it going?”

“I have asked you to call me as Mr. Novak.” Castiel strides forward, every step measured and contained. “It is unprofessional to address an inferior officer so informally.”

Dean straightens up; certain that Sam is well enough to not need support. “Well it feels awkward as shit calling you that and Cas sounds like it suits you better.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow dangerously, “Let us move on and begin screening your potential co-pilots.”

Dean rolls his eyes; impressed with Castiel’s immense self-control when it’s obvious he’d love nothing more than to clock Dean in the face.

“So,” begins Dean. “You personally screened these officers?”

“Yes. I studied your drift patterns and fighting style from previous kaiju engagements and other tactical missions.”

“Okay cool. So what’s your deal?”

“I… beg your pardon?” Castiel frowns, confused.

Dean shrugs, “Screening people, restoring old Jaegers, leading has-beens like me around… shouldn’t top brass have you inside a Jaeger of your own if you’re the golden boy? Are you a pilot?”

Castiel’s hands tighten on his clipboard. “No, not yet. But I want to be one more than anything else in the world.”

Dean stares at Castiel, truly looking at him for the first time all morning. Castiel’s stance is rigid, his back ramrod straight and his chin up, his blue eyes fixed on an unknown point beyond Dean’s left shoulder, and his hands clenched on his trusty clipboard. Behind him, Marshall Singer enters with a woman who Dean presumes to be Commander Harvelle; a strong looking woman in her mid-fifties and with the single-minded gaze of a predator on the hunt. Dean doesn’t think for a second that she isn’t here to judge him, but rather senses she’s more focused on the potential candidates lined up on the other side of the room. Said candidates avoiding eye contact with her and squirming uncomfortably as they wait. Castiel meets Dean’s eyes and nods; Dean steps up onto the mat and makes his way to the center. The first candidate in line leaps up and moves anxiously to stand opposite to Dean.

 _Too eager_ , muses Dean. _He’ll get himself, and **us** , killed_.

“Begin,” said Castiel.

Number One comes straight at Dean with a series of aggressive strikes: slash, hack, and jab. No finesse or attempt at feinting. Which meant that he neither respected nor feared Dean.

 _Well alright pal_.

Effortlessly flicking aside all attempts at jabbing, Dean pivots on the ball of his right foot and hooks Number One around the back his right knee and, carrying through with his movement, gracefully knocking Number One on his back, hanbo at the man’s throat. Dean springs up from the floor just in time to see Castiel mark something on his clipboard. Dean straightens up in time for Number One to come at him again, but this time Dean uses the kid’s momentum against him and flips him over and off of the raised platform to tumble down into the small audience, and he hadn’t even actively tried to hit the kid yet.

“Two to zero,” declared Castiel.

Number One bounded back up onto the mat once more, but came at Dean a little slower now, clearly wary about his opponent and searching for a weak spot. Dean almost giggles at how over-eager and obvious the kid was, trying to draw Dean out or provoke him into attacking. _At least he’s learning_ , thought Dean. _But I should take him down before he learns too much_. And with that, Dean feints to the right and then deftly attacks the kid on the left, slipping his hanbo under Number One’s arm to poke at his ribs.

“Third point. Set and match. Next.” Castiel announces. Number One storms off the stage and onto the waiting area, flushed in shame at his quick defeat.

Number Two comes at Dean before he can get his hanbo up to parry, the strike coming in high and fast. Dean whirls his hanbo up and around, bringing both weapons down to curve towards his opponent’s exposed belly.

“Point one,” said Castiel.

The second point was over before it started really. Number Two took a step forward and Dean could see the attack coming from a mile away. All he had to do was catch the outside of the leading foot and give it a little tug, and Number Two was falling down like a sack of bricks.  The kid got up and, exceedingly pissed, nearly jabbed Dean right in his bad shoulder before he could block. Dean stepped back leading towards the edge of the arena and, the kid following hot on his heels, ducked down onto one heel and swept his right foot around in an arc, knocking his opponent flat on his back and bringing the hanbo up to Number Two’s throat.

“Set and match. Next opponent please,” said Castiel, his voice tight. Dean glanced up at him, seeing the stiff stance and displeased downward quirk of his lips.

Castiel sure didn’t look happy about something. Dean shook himself off and strode forward to meet his next opponent. One minute later, Number Three was down and out for the count, having irritated Dean with his quick and insubstantial jabs. Dean decided to put him out of his misery by glancing off a blow from his opponent, derailing the thrust, and knocking the kid out cold with a quick, sharp smack to the back of the head. Dean turned around to watch Castiel call the match and scribble something onto his clipboard, his long, pale fingers gripping the pen so tightly Dean was afraid it would shatter. Castiel didn’t look… angry, Dean thought, more disappointed. Disgusted, even.

Number Four made Dean work a little harder, clearly having learned from the mistakes of his peers, touching Dean twice because he was getting a little bored. These kids were decent, but not enough to pose a challenge and _certainly_ not enough to present any viable threat to a kaiju. Dean let Number Four dance closer and closer to him before slipping behind him and hooking his hanbo around the kid’s throat to hoist him up above the ground, dangling Number Four by the neck from the staff. Dean only let him down after Castiel barked out the score and marked down his clipboard, Number Four fell to the floor and rubbed his bruised throat, surprised at the ferocity of Dean’s chokehold.

Dean glanced over to his final opponent, standing off to the side near the door to the Kwoon center and looking about ready to piss himself in fear. To the kid’s credit though, he stepped up onto the mat and got into the beginning stance, even though he had to visibly steel himself beforehand.  Dean let Number Five think he was getting slow and unsteady, tired from fighting the previous four losers, until Number Five proved him wrong and managed to land a sharp jab to Dean’s good shoulder.

“Nice work kid!” Dean grinned, and then gracefully ducked under Number Five’s hanbo to knock it out of his hands and across the mat. “But mercy won’t do you any good in real combat. It just gets you killed.”

“Point one,” growled Castiel.

Number Five glances over at his fallen hanbo, considering the distance and speed necessary to grab it. Dean raises his weapon, ready to block the access to the hanbo when Number Five narrows his eyes, drops to the floor on a roll, and uses an upward thrust from his foot to knock away Dean’s weapon before hooking both feet around Dean’s exposed ankle. Dean goes with the movement, surprised at his opponent’s resourcefulness, and drops onto Number Five’s legs to put him in a chokehold.

“Fast, but you put more stock into speed and surprise,” Dean lifts himself off Number Five’s legs. “You need more than that to go head to head with a kaiju, even if the robot you’re controlling does most of the work.”

And then Dean promptly rolls the both of them over and towards the weapons, picking one up before his opponent can, and knocking Number Five out cold with a powerful blow to the forehead.

“Three points to zero,” Castiel looks even more disgusted now.

“Hey,” Dean struts over to the edge of the mat, and waves jauntily at Castiel. “You don’t like them?”

Castiel glares at him over the top of his trusty clipboard. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s eyes narrow, “Every time a match ends you make this little…” he scrunches up his face like he’s just smelled something bad, “face. Like you’re critical of their performance.”

Dean felt bad for the candidates because, for all the effort Castiel put into screening them, none of them were even remotely close to being in his league. He knew it, they knew it, and Cas knew it. Castiel glanced back at Commander Harvelle as if seeking permission for something.

Harvelle only nods minutely in response.

“To be perfectly honest Mr. Winchester it’s not their performance that I am critical of. It is _yours_. You could have taken down each and every one of the candidates two moves earlier.”

 _Oh_ , thinks Dean. _Now things are getting interesting. They never wanted to test my compatibility with these yahoos; they wanted to see what I was capable of doing after being sidelined for so long._

“You think so, huh?” challenged Dean, never glancing away from Castiel’s eyes and feels Sam’s gaze on him from behind, watching and ready to intervene.

Castiel holds his gaze; the rigid set of his shoulders and the lines of pure rage crinkling his eyes the only hint that he was ready to fly at Dean. Dean feels the electric crackle of warmth slide slowly down his spine. Castiel wants to fight. Dean can see it in the way Cas is physically holding himself in check.

“I know so,” says Cas evenly, his eyes betraying his emotions. “Your choices are not poor but neither are they the best you are capable of. They are adequate, and barely do well enough to let you win.” Dean watches the way Castiel’s knuckles turn white from the strain of clenching his hands on the clipboard. “Your movements are sloppy and tactless, more of a bar brawl than the calculated stances of the required Kwoon procedures. You are unpredictable and have a fighting style more suited to a berserker. You have a habit of deviating from standard fighting procedures and endangering yourself and those around you. I do not think you are the appropriate man for this mission and, if I may be so bold, I wonder greatly at how you even qualified to take the pilot exam let alone _drive_ a Jaeger.”

Dean feels the white hot brush of rage at the negative comments, all too aware of how many times he’s heard similar criticism from his father, and hears the many shocked intakes of breath from around the room. He feels, rather than sees, Sam tense up at the words, bringing out a similar reaction in the younger Winchester. They’ve always been able to handle legitimate criticism they can work to improve, but they draw the line at flat-out insults.

“What’s your simulator score?” Dean snarls.

“I beg your pardon?” Castiel blinks.

“I said: what is your fucking _simulator score_?”

“I don’t think that is relevant to the situation here Mr.-“

“If you’re so critical of my goddamn fighting style then why don’t you get down here and _correct me_ you egotistical little shit,” Dean picks up his discarded hanbo with barely restrained rage. “Because unless you’ve got yourself a perfect score then you have no right to criticize me like this.”

“Fifty-one drops, fifty-one kills.” Says Castiel evenly.

Behind Cas, Commander Harvelle shifts onto the balls of her feet and narrows her eyes dangerously at Castiel, moving closer as if to hold him back. Dean blinks, and then grins. He’s always had a knack for seeing beyond the obvious and getting under people’s skin to twist the knife deeper. This is _definitely_ something he can work with.

“So that’s why you’re not amongst those shiny new candidates then, is it?” Dean smirks triumphantly at Castiel, watching the other man coil tighter in pure, unadulterated rage. “ _Mommy dearest_ up there keeping you on a tight leash then?” Dean turns to Commander Harvelle directly, “What’s the matter? Don’t think your best and brightest can cut it in the ring with me?”

“Ranger, we’re sticking to the cadet list we’ve got. It’s about physical compatibility and instinctual responsiveness,” says Commander Harvelle, her voice a low warning. “Only candidates with drift compatibility are allowed this chance to assess their skills.”

Castiel’s cheeks flush scarlet with anger and he turns back to the Commander, eagerness written plainly on his face, hungry for a chance to prove himself.

“Which I _have_ Commander!” says Castiel fiercely. “My patterns are well within the EEG parameters that would allow me to successfully drift with Mr. Winchester.”

Commander Harvelle gives Castiel a long, hard look, filled with an indescribable emotion. Castiel stands rigidly at attention, never breaking eye contact, until Harvelle nods, giving permission. Castiel’s eyes widen and he all but throws his clipboard to the ground in his haste to get to the training mat. He quickly strips his outer jacket off to reveal the same black tank top as Dean and, after removing his thick combat boots, peels his socks off to stuff into the pocket of his jacket.

Standing up, Castiel flexes his head from side to side, the tendons in his neck straining deliciously, and Dean takes stock of the wiry frame of his opponent; from the slender torso to the lean and corded arms at his sides. Dean glances down to Castiel’s toes and feet, noting the sure-footed stance and coordinated movements between all of Castiel’s limbs. Out of the corner of his eye Dean watches as a pair of young men enter the room, one all long and bulky limbs with sandy blond hair and droopy eyes, the other with coal black hair and thick corded muscles along his shoulder blades, the second man’s eyes glance between Dean and Castiel, hard and unforgiving. They don’t say a word while they quietly pick their way over to the spectator’s benches.

Dean shakes himself off, putting the two newcomers out of his mind, and turns his attention back onto Castiel, who is gracefully climbing up onto the dais to grab the second hanbo from the ground. He waits until Castiel is walking past him to say, “Just so you know, I’m not going to dial down my moves for _you_ golden boy.”

Castiel turns, hands gripping the hanbo with bruising force, “Okay. Then neither will I.”

They stand opposite to one another and take up their beginning stances; Dean with his right foot forward and both hands on opposite ends of the hanbo, raised to his chest for optimal defense. Castiel takes up his stance; feet spread apart with hands on the hanbo and his left shoulder dipped down for an easy offensive.

Castiel throws the first strike, coming in from underhand, with Dean blocking it easily and coming in from overhand. His strike loose and easy, thinking they’re still in the early formalities of the fight, until Castiel catches the end of Dean’s hanbo and cracks him hard in the ribs under his stick arm.

“One-zero,” declares Castiel smugly. “Courtesy of the Shibata block.”

While Cas is still gloating, Dean flicks his hanbo into a sideways swing over Castiel’s dropped guard and pops him on his left shoulder before Cas can even blink. Castiel’s gloating turns into the single most venomous glare Dean has ever seen in his life.

“One-one,” Dean winks.

Castiel glances up at Commander Harvelle, clearly embarrassed at the lapse in concentration, and Dean blinks. _He doesn’t behave like a ranger or a PPDC staffer_ , thinks Dean, _he acts more like a_ … but Dean is brought out of his reverie when he notices the opening in Castiel’s stance. He twirls with his hanbo, reverses his grip, and taps Castiel on his right shoulder.

“Two to one,” Dean chuckles. “Come on now, is this really all the golden boy has to offer? No concentration and some flashy moves?”

Castiel turns back to face Dean, his face radiating pure fury, “You gave the others a chance to rest between bouts.”

Dean draws back his hanbo, “Yeah, but they needed it. You don’t.”

And with that, Castiel turns the tables on Dean with a straight thrust into his gut. Dean lets out a hacking cough of air and doubles over, but Castiel isn’t finished. He kicks Dean’s legs out from under him and as he goes down Castiel falls with him to crouch on top of Dean, winding up his hanbo for a blow to the face that would’ve surely broken Dean’s nose had Castiel not held himself back at the last moment.

“Castiel. _Control_.” Barks Commander Harvelle.

Castiel hovers over Dean and bares his teeth in a facsimile of a grin; Dean isn’t sure whether he’s more terrified or aroused at the display.

“Two-two,” hisses Cas, getting up off of Dean. Dean hops to his feet, fully on guard this time.

“Remember, it’s not about fighting your partner,” says Dean. “It’s about working _with_ them and being able to anticipate their every move.”

After that, everything starts to flow between them. Every strike Castiel dealt out, Dean saw coming, but they still came fast enough that Dean could barely parry them. Every counterstrike of Dean’s, Castiel saw coming and reacted accordingly. Their every move became part of an intricate dance between soldiers, where one would parry the other would thrust, and then the dance would begin anew. Dean outweighed Castiel by maybe forty pounds in sheer muscle, but for all the speed Dean could muster, he was barely grazing Castiel for agility and accuracy.

Together they traversed every inch of the training mat, though they never went close to the edge of the dais, their hanbos snapping into each other and ripping into the space just vacated the moment before by a hand or an ankle. Every fall or jump became a rolling spring into another defensive stance or offensive maneuver. Every strike met a parry, and every advance met its match in a perfect countering retreat.  

The dance continued and began to flow into a set of synchronized movements. Dean and Castiel were breathing in unison, and they were stepping in the same exact rhythm. Strikes and parries and blocks came one by one, but Dean didn’t feel like he was fighting another opponent, but rather like he was fighting a copy of himself. The moves were so similar it was like thinking in your own mind, and trying to fight against yourself. Each movement was anticipated so closely that Dean finally recognized the match for what it was: a simulation of the Drift.

“ _Enough_ ,” declares Commander Harvelle. Dean and Castiel halt, eyes still locked onto each other. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”

“Me too,” said Dean. “He’s my co-pilot.”

Castiel looks up at Dean, hope and disbelief shining in his large sapphire eyes. At the last moment though, Castiel remembers himself, and turns toward Commander Harvelle to stand at attention. Waiting for her verdict. Looking over his shoulder, Dean notices that the two strangers, Mr. sandy blond and Mr. iron-eyes have disappeared sometime during the match. He shrugs it off, chalking it up to a couple of off-duty workers getting bored and using their match as a form of entertainment.

“Ranger you are out of line,” growls Commander Harvelle. “Officer Novak is not an eligible candidate for the drift.”

“Why?” Dean scowls, seeing Castiel wilt out of the corner of his eye. “Just because he pisses me off doesn’t mean he’s incompatible with me!” He gestures over to where Sam is sitting, frozen in amazement, on one of the benches with Dean’s discarded clothes. “Sam used to piss me off all the time and we were still the tightest drift team to ever ride the Californian coast. He _still_ pisses me off all the time and I trust him with my life. Just like I trust Cas. You could damn well see it; we practically drifted right here in front of everyone!”

Commander Harvelle’s eyes harden icily, daring Dean to continue with his insubordination. “Officer Novak is _not_ a candidate,” she reiterates. “Report to the LOCCENT at noon to meet your new co-pilot. Make sure to dress the part boy.”

And with that, she sweeps out of the Kwoon training center. Dean turns to look at Cas, but he isn’t even looking at Dean. Cas didn’t even seem to notice that Dean was still in the room at all. He was looking forlornly at where Commander Harvelle had been standing; his face tight and closed off. Dean knows enough about reading people to know when to keep quiet about something, and Cas looks like he’s got enough on his mind already. So Dean heads over to Sam, who wordlessly hands him his things, and starts to get dressed. Sam only makes a sound to let Dean know that someone is approaching, a small nod and a grunt, and suddenly Cas is standing at Dean’s side looking like the world’s most awkwardly adorable puppy.

 “I… would like to apologize for the things I said earlier,” says Cas, never making eye contact with Dean. “It was rude and out of line. I was merely frustrated by my lack of progress and unfortunately decided to take it out on you.”

Dean starts and then flushes pink, “Well, I said some pretty shitty things to you too pal. I mean, it was mostly to rile you up into actually getting mad but that’s no excuse.” He scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

“By the way, how did you know?” inquires Castiel.

“About what?”

“How Commander Harvelle is like a mother to me?”

“Oh,” Sam interjects gently with a smile. “Well she looks at you like she wants to protect you from everything.” He nudges his brother fondly; “We remember getting that look a _lot_ when our mother was still alive.”

Dean chuckles, “Nah that wasn’t it. To me it looked more like she wanted to let you beat the shit out of your opponents like she _clearly_ knows you can. Call it a mother’s pride.”

And for the first time since meeting him, Castiel’s face breaks into a blinding smile. Sam looks over at Dean just in time to see his big brother look absolutely floored by the sight, and grins maniacally.

_Oh this will be sweet indeed._

“Besides,” says Dean. “You and I fight like we were _born_ to drift together.”

Beside them, Sam grins widely, “So, who wants to go get some lunch before we meet your new co-pilot?” He glances over at Cas anxiously.  “Whoever they are?”

“That sounds wonderful Sam.”

They don’t look back. Commander Harvelle later storms up to their table during lunch and hands Castiel the co-pilot application papers, and gruffly informing him that only officers who filled out an application can be rangers. Castiel snorts milk up his nose in surprise and Dean cackles triumphantly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Sabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much fun to write because COME ON! Who doesn't love prankster!Gabriel?

Sam loves the K-Science lab. He loves the busy atmosphere, the intellectual camaraderie, and even the sharp smell of the ammonia used for kaiju preservation. He adores the friendly competition between the K-Science biology team and the physics team.

What he does not particularly enjoy, is the smug satisfaction Gabriel gets at being able to prove his theories with pure physics and mathematics, while all Sam can do is find common denominators and present more hypotheses. Ever since their meeting in the elevator Gabriel has taken it upon himself to stop Sam’s scientific progress by any means possible, even if it means using outright sabotage to win.

Sam’s first day in the labs consists of a tour of the room and the tiny supply closet in the corner, and introductions to the rest of the K-Science team. Chuck, already acquainted with Sam, greets him warmly and with a gentle handshake. Sam doesn’t comment on the unidentified gel underneath Chuck’s fingernails and moves on. Sam finds out that Chuck’s specialties lie in the bioluminescent properties of the kaiju. Next is Dr. Becky Rosen, who is uncomfortably well versed in the various kaiju weaponry and armament. Rather than getting up to shake Sam’s hand, she extends a piece of shell armor and challenges him to identify what part of the kaiju it comes from. Sam raises his chin and goes a step further; he details not only the physical origin but also the kaiju it belonged to, along with the exact offensive capabilities of said kaiju. Becky grins and welcomes him to the team. Dr. Ava Wilson is another matter entirely. She works with Gabriel in the physics side of the division. Her specializations being in abstract mathematics and quantum mechanics. She’s not as shy as Chuck but not as intimidating as Becky, and, being far more socially adept than her teammates, extends a clean hand for Sam to shake. Once the appropriate introductions have been made, she turns back to her chalkboard, scrawling unintelligible numbers and symbols in every available space. Gabriel ignores him entirely and barely acknowledges his presence in the lab other than to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that no pieces of kaiju are to be anywhere near their blackboards.

Gabriel and Ava’s chalkboards take up an enormous amount of space, given the fact that they’re only hung on the walls and not standing on the floor. So Sam makes sure to do his level best never to touch them. Ava is always polite and enjoys puns, the cornier the better. She and Sam get along famously. Sam and everyone else in the lab get along wonderfully. Sam and Gabriel get along like oil and water.

Gabriel finds true joy in life by pranking people, causing misery and mayhem wherever and whenever he can. Be it little things like salt in the sugar container, hiding pens and pencils, or even putting moldy kaiju guts in people’s discarded shoes. He loves pranks with every fiber of his being.

Let it be known that everyone _but_ Gabriel hates pranks. Ava spends the first fifteen minutes of her day simply going over every square inch of her chalkboard because Gabriel is not above changing a number or a letter here and there. Chuck, for some unspecified reason, is never farther than five feet from his coffee mug, and always has eyes on it. Becky locks up every piece of kaiju specimen she can, and keeps all the keycards and passwords close to her heart. Literally, she keeps a tiny lockbox full of them in her pants pocket at all times. Regardless, Gabriel still manages to cause mayhem with very little effort and no small amount of cunning on his part. Of course, this calls for a counterattack.

On Sam’s second day in the lab, Gabriel strides into the lab sporting an uneven streak of neon pink along the right side of his head. No one says a thing except to wordlessly get out of Gabriel's way, his wrath palpable throughout the shared workspace. Things only go downhill from there. That afternoon Gabriel's customary mid-day chocolate bar goes missing, only to turn up later in a container of leftover kaiju waste. He has a massive, flailing tantrum and screams at everyone about his hypoglycemic tendencies and promptly passes out for an hour-long nap at his desk. A surprising amount of actual work gets done once he’s asleep, and so no one questions the sudden turn of luck.

The third day in the lab sees Gabriel blasting his favourite bubblegum pop songs from whatever god-awful movie or radio station is available. Ava breaks several pieces of chalk from holding them so tightly in rage; Chuck goes to take a swig from his not-so-secret flask of whiskey, and Becky ends up squeezing one of her specimens so hard it bursts, ruining the sample. Sam decides to put on some actually decent music and, feigning a work deadline, stays to eat his lunch in the lab so he can hijack the sound system.

When everyone returns from lunch the only thing drifting through the lab is the sound of classic oldies from the fifties filtering softly out of the speakers. Gabriel says nothing and simply squints at Sam accusingly, unsure of Sam’s involvement in the scheme. His suspicions are confirmed when he goes to switch the music and it turns out that Sam has reset the password on his IPod. Gabriel turns to glare at Sam, who smiles beatifically up at him from where he’s dissecting a small slice of kaiju brain. In return for the music, Sam discovers the container of his favourite salad dressing has been refilled with edible lube and balsamic. However, not being one to concede defeat, he sits there and resolutely stares Gabriel down as he drenches his whole salad in the concoction and eats every last bite of it. He regrets his bravado filled decision much later when he’s heaving up lube and salad bits, but there are always casualties in war.

After that Sam decides to up the ante a little bit by being subtle, something Gabriel seems to have trouble with. One day when Gabriel has a meeting with the techies from _Angel Blade’s_ team about a section of code in the system, Sam quickly moves every single one of Gabriel’s lab possessions exactly seven inches to the right. No one questions what Sam is doing, and they simply continue on with their work. Upon Gabriel’s return to the lab he immediately makes a beeline for the small mini-fridge in the corner to retrieve a soda. He pops the tab, wanders over to his chalkboard, and when he goes to place his soda on the desk… drops it onto the floor with a resounding splash, the desk now further away than he expected. Gabriel jumps a foot in the air and flails for a paper towel, swearing and cursing the entire time while Sam shakes with silent laughter in his corner of the lab.

The whole thing comes to a head late on the fourth night when everyone else has retired for the night and Sam and Gabriel are the only ones left in the lab. Gabriel is vibrating with rage near his workspace and pacing back and forth, whispering and gesturing wildly to himself as he moves, while Sam works quietly with his sample of kaiju muscle tissue.

“I don’t fucking GET IT!” roars Gabriel. “What the fuck is wrong with my lab and why is everything so goddamn WRONG?” Sam turns to look over at him just as Gabriel points an accusing finger at him. “I _know_ it was you! Somehow, some way, it was _you_! And I don’t fucking know how!”

“So you admit defeat?” asks Sam evenly, never breaking eye contact. “You admit to psychologically torturing everyone in this lab to the point where they’re afraid to leave their work alone for fear that you’ll sabotage it?”

Gabriel freezes, “I do not ‘sabotage’ their things!” he cries, making air quotes.

Sam just raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Okay well maybe not sabotage,” Gabriel shrugs. “More like, encouraging constant vigilance?”

Sam rolls his eyes in response.

“Okay, Okay! So maybe I was a little overzealous with the fun. But can you blame me?” Gabriel holds his palms out in supplication, “I mean come _on_! We’ve been stuck in this shithole for years and people go a little stir crazy!”

Sam doesn’t budge. Nor does he look away from Gabriel.

“Okay _fine_. I’m sorry. You happy now?” he snarks.

Sam gets up from his seat and crosses the room.

“I’d be happier if you apologized to the rest of the K-Science division but whatever,” and proceeds to move everything exactly seven inches to the left, back where it was before the Great Prank War started. Gabriel blinks at Sam, and then glances around the room.

“All you did was… move stuff around?”

“Yep. You learn to work with what you’ve got when all your worldly possessions can fit into a single duffel bag.”

Gabriel’s amber eyes watch Sam like a hawk, “Yeah I’ll bet. Truce?”

Sam eyes him warily, “Truce.”

They shake hands firmly.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

After the truce, Sam and Gabriel get along well. Not perfectly, given Sam’s desire for order and Gabriel’s recent reign of terror in the lab. But they don’t scream at each other or try to kill each other anymore. The pranks gradually become less sharp and more fun, and Sam’s secret stash of sweets comes out of hiding to have a prominent place in the center of the dissection table in a big colourful bowl. Chuck’s drinking slows down and his anxiety lessens; Becky starts leaving the specimens unlocked again after funding gets cut once more and the samples stop being so readily available; and Ava stops looking ready to rip Gabriel’s head off after he touches her chalkboard.

But some things resolutely remain the same. Sam keeps churning out his theories about the kaiju and their origins, while Gabriel refuses to put stock into anything but his numbers and predictions. Sam gives his first report to Marshall Singer about possible offensive weaponry additions to the Jaegers and Gabriel submits a report about the changing nature of the Breach and its stability. Until the day when Sam compares two extremely similar strands of DNA found in some brain samples. Brain samples from _two completely different kaiju_. Understandably, Sam is more than a little excited at his breakthrough, if the impromptu victory dance he does in the lab is any indication. So he starts preparing and organizing his notes for the next day, when Marshall Singer and Commander Harvelle are scheduled to arrive for a briefing about the Breach and some mission given by Gabriel.

Eighteen hours later Marshall Singer and Commander Harvelle are standing in front of Gabriel’s desk and gazing speculatively at the holographic display whirring to life in bright fluorescent colours.

“Okay so!” Gabriel scrambles around at the topmost section of his chalkboard. “In the beginning the kaiju attacks were spaced out pretty evenly right? Right! So the first ones were spaced out by twelve months, and then by six months and then three and then finally every month.” He slides down gracefully from the top of the ladder. “And the latest attack, came after only two weeks.” He pauses for dramatic effect, but when his audience shows no visual reaction he sighs in frustration.

“Get to your point doc,” growls Marshall Singer.

“What I’m saying,” Gabriel scoots over to them on his wheelie chair. “Is that we could be seeing a kaiju attack every four days and then two days. Until we have a kaiju every eight hours, and then we’d have one popping out very four minutes.”

Marshall Singer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, while Commander Harvelle freezes. Sam watches the both of them, gauging their reactions and comparing them with the information he knows. Things don’t look good for humanity.

“And when should this start increasing?” asks Commander Harvelle.

“Well, if things hold up at the rate they’re going, we should witness a double event within the next week or so.”

Commander Harvelle scoffs, “Boy, we need more than a ‘should’,” her gaze hardens. “I need concrete intel to somehow save humanity from an alien apocalypse. Your ‘should’ really doesn’t cut it.”

“But he can’t give you more than that-“ Sam cuts in.

Gabriel sends an icy glare his way before reclaiming the conversation, “Numbers don’t lie. Politics and poetry and promises made, those things are totally capable of lies. I know it’s cheesy but numbers are the closest we’ll ever get to the handwriting of God.”

Sam rolls his eyes so hard he’s half afraid they’ll pop right out of his skull. Jesus Christ on a pink tricycle, you’d think Gabriel had a massive hard-on for numbers or something what with the way he goes on about them. “You are officially the craziest son of a bitch I have ever met in my entire life.”

“Fuck you moose boy,” Gabriel spins back to face the commanders. “There _will_ be a double event. Not might. And then three kaiju, and then four and then we’re-“

“Dead,” finishes Marshall Singer.

“Yep. Pretty much,” says Gabriel, falling back into his seat. “But it’s a good thing that this is our window of opportunity to close the Breach for good.”  And with that, he launches out of his seat to commandeer the hologram display of the Breach.

“Here is our universe,” he says, pointing to the top of the display. “And here is theirs.” He gestures to the bottom. “This is what we call the Throat,” Gabriel points to the narrow space between the holographic portals that stretches out in soft greens and blues. “It’s the passage where the kaiju get transported between universes, so, every time a kaiju passes through, the Breach stays open for a short time before and after the shift. But here’s where things get interesting.”

Gabriel stands up to enlarge the display where two small red spheres open up to represent kaiju, “There’s a link between how many kaiju pass through the Breach and how long the portal stays open. Now,” he sends the two spheres through, “The more kaiju that pass through, the longer it stays open. But there’s a catch for the kaiju, and a window for us.” The commanders move in closer, eyes fixed on the kaiju dots. “The bigger the kaiju, the longer the Breach has to stay open, but, the bigger the kaiju, the increased instability of the portal’s structure. Now imagine the length of time required for _multiple_ large kaiju to pass through…” Gabriel whips up a tiny spec to represent a bomb, and drops it into the holographic Breach. “I predict that with the increased traffic and bigger kaiju, the Breach will remain open long enough to get a bomb through, and destroy the structure.”

The holographic explosive goes off about halfway down the throat, collapsing the model in a granular wave of greens, blues, and reds, with the two universes severed from one another. Gabriel looks up expectantly into the faces of Marshall Singer and Commander Harvelle.

“Well, we have one shot at this,” says Marshall Singer despairingly. “We _have_ to be sure.”

“Wait a second, just hold on a minute here!” says Commander Harvelle, disbelief in every syllable. “We have _never_ seen two kaiju come through the Breach before so how could special-k here have modeled that just based on numbers? And we’re supposed to believe that _three_ kaiju will come through at some point?”

“Exactly!” cries Sam, no longer able to contain himself. “Anyone can do the math and spew out some numbers about an intergalactic dimensional portal throughout the universe, its just numbers.” Gabriel angrily tosses his notepad at Sam’s head, who ducks deftly beneath it. “Why do we class each kaiju on a category system? It’s because no two kaiju look or act the same! And it’s almost like they’re not from the same species given how different they are from one another. So, instead we rank them by size and weight.”

“Get to your point kid,” growls Marshall Singer.

Sam holds up a thin slice of kaiju brain for them to see, “Despite the highly individualized appearances of each kaiju thus far, there are some fundamental aspects to them that every single one of them seems to have in common. See?” he slaps down one slice of brain onto the examining table. “This is a piece of kaiju brain collected from _Mutavore_.” Sam proceeds to pull out another slice of brain, this one slightly greyer than the other. “And this one,” he lays it on the table, “came from _Runningblade_ several months ago. Now, take a look at them.”

Everyone in the room leans forward to get a closer look at the two samples.

They’re identical.

“This is the same exact DNA from two different specimens in two different times,” Sam looks up at the commanders. “From two exact _clones_.”

“The same DNA,” echoes Commander Harvelle in shock.

“Precisely!” says Sam, waving his hands excitedly. “Like spare parts or recycled bits from a factory, the same hardware only in different forms and patterns. I mean, the whole creature obviously isn’t the same, but different parts of them are totally taken from clips of cloned DNA. So the choicest bits and the most successful structures are being replicated and duplicated and they are _evolving_ without the need for breeding!” Sam takes a deep breath, and then coughs violently. Marshall Singer quickly hands him his pillbox while Gabriel rushes to get him a glass of water.

Once Sam has his breathing under control he carries on undaunted. “So these creatures are being designed and manufactured! And,” Sam pulls out another tissue sample, “The most basic function of DNA in any organism is to encode the physical form of whatever it is. But kaiju DNA has a secondary function: it encodes memories. Each DNA strand acts as a memory bank. The kaiju have a hive mind and mentality, so that each new clone shares the memories and experiences of its predecessors!” He pauses to wipe some excess blood away from the corner of his mouth. “There is _way_ more going on here than just some crazy beasts wandering through an interdimensional hole to attack at random, and we need to find out what it is.”

Marshall Singer shakes himself off, “And what do you have in mind?”

“So I know it’s crazy but-“

“Oh here we go again,” Gabriel snarks.

“Theoretically, even though the brain sample we have is damaged, weak but still alive, we could use the same Pons technology to use a neural bridge to see _inside_ the Breach and learn where they come from and what they want with earth!” Sam takes a quavering breath, looking up at the commanders expectantly.

“Boy,” Commander Harvelle narrows her eyes dangerously. “Are you seriously suggesting we _drift with a kaiju_?”

“A piece of kaiju brain but still,” Sam shrugs. “As long as I had a few pieces of equipment-“

“A few pieces?” Marshall Singer said, his tone acidic.

Sam backpedals frantically, not wanting to waste his golden opportunity, “Just enough to build a Pons and create the neural link! There’s more than enough spare parts in the-“

“No.” Commander Harvelle’s tone was final, cutting straight through Sam’s rambling. “The neural surge would be too much for a single human to handle, and that’s only considering what we know from drifting with Jaegers. There’s no telling what would happen if we initiated a human-kaiju drift. Sorry kid.”

“I agree,” the Marshall sighed, recognizing the look of frustrated resignation on Sam’s face. “Dr. Novak I want all your data on my desk ASAP.”

“Yes sir!”

And without further ado, they left the room, leaving the scientists sitting in silence.

Gabriel glances over at Sam, who is sitting quietly with his face in his hands. He feels a warm swell of pity for him, and for all the work he did to prove himself, only to be shot down.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I know you wanna be right but it’s not gonna work. And even if it did, you’d kill yourself with the drift.” Sam gives no indication he heard Gabriel, so he tries again. “And besides, who would I shoot the shit with if you went and kicked the bucket?”

Sam raises his head slowly to meet Gabriel’s gaze, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, “Fortune favours the brave, not those who sit at a desk and let top brass dictate what they can and can’t do.”

Gabriel blinks, and watches in amazement as Sam begins to frantically type away at his computer, eyes ablaze and undeterred. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! I was working on another fic and this one got shoved to the backburner. Sarah beta'd it for me, so hopefully it's not as atrocious as some of my other fics!
> 
> Also this one has lots of angst in it on Gabriel's end, and we get more info on the Drift Teams and their Jaeger specs :D

The day after Gabriel’s briefing with the commanders and Sam’s disastrous attempts at being the K-Science saviour, Sam is man enough to admit that he may be going a little overboard with the need to prove himself, regardless of whose theory their bosses have chosen to endorse. So when he wakes up with his face mushed into an open dossier of kaiju files with drool on his chin he wipes himself off surreptitiously and then heads down to the mess hall for a bite to eat, ignoring the snickers from Ava and Becky on his way out.

After getting a sandwich, an apple, and a juice box he grabs his tray and looks out over the sea of hungry Shatterdome workers, trying to spot a free seat. Of course, given Sam’s luck, the only free spot at the peak hour of the lunch rush is right across from Gabriel, who is currently stuffing his face with spaghetti and totally engrossed in reading a tiny bound journal. Sam smirks, and makes his way over to the mathematician. Coming up from behind Gabriel, he bends down quietly… and then blows a big wet raspberry directly into Gabriel’s right ear. Gabriel drops the journal, flails, and sucks back a deep breath of spaghetti in shock. Sam grimaces as he pats Gabriel on the back, trying to help him breath properly, until Gabriel bursts out laughing.

“Oh my _god_ I was not expecting _that_!” he crows.

“I’m sorry man, I didn’t mean to make you choke or anything-“

“No, no, no! You’ve gotta come take a look at this!”

So Sam dutifully walks around to the seat opposite of Gabriel, sits down, and looks up into Gabriel’s grinning face. His eyes drop down to the long string of spaghetti hanging precariously out of Gabriel’s nose, glances up into Gabriel’s eyes, and then they both burst into delighted peals of laughter.

“What the _fuck_?” Sam guffaws, “How is that even possible?”

Gabriel just pulls the noodle out of his nose and eats it.

“Oh dude _gross_!” Sam scrunches his nose in disgust. Gabriel giggles.

“Hey I still stand by what I said earlier,” Gabriel says calmly.

“And what would that be?”

“That people tend to go a little stir crazy here at chez Hong Kong Shatterdome.”

“Oh so _that_ what’s happening here is it?” Sam cackles.

“ _Mais oui_!” Gabriel responds, hands moving in a flourish.

They end up sharing the rest of their meal in companionably silence which, given their current track record for fucking shit up, is a relative miracle, until Gabriel glances up at Sam contemplatively, his eyebrows drawing together in thought.

“So,” he begins, “What’s with all the…” his hands gesture to Sam’s face, “Blood and coughing and shit?”

Sam grimaces at the succinct summary of his condition, “The joys of radiation poisoning.”

“Well fuck,” Gabriel says eloquently.

“Pretty much.”

“So I guess that explains why you and Dean-o aren’t drifting together anymore.”

“Yeah,” Sam stirs his straw around in the juice box. “We were in the third generation of the Jaegers so they didn’t have all the bugs worked out with all the radiation protection and stuff.”

“Is it true then?” Gabriel asks quietly.

Sam looks up, “About what?”

“About Japan and _Onibaba_?” Gabriel fiddles with his fork. “And did your brother really drift solo? Or is that just some macho rumour he spread around to make himself look more badass?”

“It’s all true,” says Sam. “Japan was our last active stationing when we were still piloting _Black Betty_ together. _Onibaba_ was the last kaiju we ever fought together… and likely my last kaiju kill.” He stares down into the remains of his sandwich.

“And the solo drifting?”

“Yeah, it’s true. I mean it nearly killed Dean but he somehow managed it. I just remember feeling light and dizzy, like when you stand up too suddenly and you start seeing blinking lights, you know? Well afterwards, when I came to, the medics told me I’d passed out at the helm. Apparently from the stress of piloting a Jaeger while the radiation poisoning was accelerating in my body, but I still remember thinking we’d been hit and that we were going down. But no, it was just the radiation. Dean’s told me a bit about what it was like to pilot solo, but the most he’s ever said is how it felt like the world was too bright and too hot and like it was closing in on him. I mean the part about ‘too hot’ was from the suits frying around his sensors but the rest was all neurological damage from the stress of handling everything alone. Frankly I’m just surprised he’s not drooling and slurping Jell-O from a straw right now.” Sam chuckles, eyes downcast and his smile self-deprecating.

“Oh I’m sure he still slurps Jell-O through a straw,” Gabriel snickers, “You don’t need to be brain damaged to do that.”

Sam looks up to meet Gabriel’s eyes, and they both break into hysterical giggles.

“Well, at least you left because of something beyond your control.”

“What do you mean?” asks Sam.

“Take a walk with me kiddo,” Gabriel says, mysteriously waggling his eyebrows.

“You _do_ realize that I’m only a few years younger than you right?”

Gabriel grins like a shark, “Details, details…”

They head over to the garbage receptacle to dump their trash, and then Gabriel takes the lead, guiding Sam out of the mess hall and into the crowded hallway. They take the second left off the main hall and into the Jaeger hangar, where all the crews are running and climbing over the monstrous robots like busy insects. Sam ducks under a passing support beam, and dodges a tiny forklift the size of a golf cart, following the small form of Gabriel’s retreating back through the mayhem. Eventually, Gabriel leads them behind a load of crates to a small ladder leading up to a tiny overhang that leans out over the squabbling mess of humanity running amok in the hangar. They take a seat with their legs dangling out over the empty space and, after taking a deep breath, Gabriel begins to speak.

“Do you know what I did before I came to work in the K-Science division?” he asks quietly.

Sam furrows his brows thoughtfully, “Not really, no.”

Gabriel glances over at Sam, his eyes losing a little bit of their light. “I was a Jaeger pilot.” Sam’s eyes widen comically, his mouth dropping open. “Kinda like you, and I was my older brother’s co-pilot. I looked up to him so much Sam, you have no idea.”

“What happened?” Sam whispers.

“We got into it with this huge motherfucker off the coast of Guatemala, this big thing with giant pincers and a carapace like diamond. I swear this thing came right out of nightmare version of _The Little Mermaid,_ ” Gabriel’s mouth pulls up sadly on one side. “Anyways, _Ironclaw_ decided to pry us open like a can of tuna. So the first thing he did was knock out the plasma canon, on my side,” he adds. “It felt like my entire left arm was on fire… and the next thing I knew there was this burst of light and Raphael was being pulled into the sky.”

Sam sits there, frozen, and tries to think of how he would be if he’d lost Dean in Japan. He blinks, surprised, and wipes away the wetness in his eyes to turn back to Gabriel.

“I felt it Sam,” says Gabriel quietly, his voice quavering. “I felt his fear, his pain, his total _helplessness_. I felt it in my mind when he died, like, the _exact_ moment when he ceased to exist.” Gabriel shivers violently. “I’ve never felt anything like that in my entire life. I ended up being saved when another team came to back me up, but even now, almost five years later, I get these massive panic attacks out of nowhere. And no amount of medication or liquor or equations helps me stop them,” Gabriel’s eyes harden through the wet sheen of unshed tears. “I ask myself every goddamn day what I could’ve done to save him. And every day I tell myself there is _nothing_ I could’ve done to stop it… and that makes it a thousand times worse.” Gabriel raises a hand to his face to cover his eyes, his shoulders heaving silently.

Sam feels a warm rush of sympathy for Gabriel. For everything Gabriel has gone through and is _still_ going through. He mourns the loss of a beloved brother, he mourns the loss of inner peace and calm, and he grieves for the man Gabriel used to be. Sam wipes away the tears staining his cheeks and places his arm gently over Gabriel’s shoulders, and when the touch is not rejected, carefully folds Gabriel into a warm hug. Gabriel snuffles softly into Sam’s jacket, burrowing into his shoulder, and Sam just holds him tighter and presses his face into Gabriel’s auburn hair.

Gabriel sucks in deep, gulping breaths of air and scrubs the tears from his face almost violently. “It’s not my fault,” he gasps. “Logically, I know that. But it doesn’t stop me from blaming myself every damn day. Every shrink I’ve been ordered to see has told me it’s survivor’s guilt, like somehow I don’t _know_ that. Like, I’m somehow too damaged to see what’s right in front of my eyes?” Gabriel pushes a few tendrils of wayward auburn hair out of his eyes. “And it’s not like the rest of my family has been too understanding. I don’t even think they care.”

“What!?” exclaims Sam, anger coursing through his veins. “You have other _family_ and they don’t care?”

Gabriel snorts despairingly, “Yeah. Michael and Lucifer. They’re _The Archangel’s_ pilots.”

Sam’s mind flies back to the two strangers standing at the back of the Kwoon training center whilst Dean and Castiel had been sparring. He thinks of the amused detachment of the blond man, and the icy superiority of the raven-haired man. He feels his hands curl into fists as he asks, “Why would they not care about the brother who survived?”

“Oh they care alright,” says Gabriel, his voice thick. “They care more about the fact that I’m apparently too much of a coward to pilot a Jaeger ever again. They’ve never been particularly shy about letting me know about _all_ my shortcomings. Just like they’ve always wanted me to know what an inconvenience I am to them and everyone else in the world.”

Sam feels Gabriel’s head list further onto his shoulder, “What about your parents? Or any other family? I mean there’s got to be _someone_ who still talks to you!”

“Well my mom died when I was born so that’s another mark against me in their eyes, and daddy dearest wasn’t really the paternal type, so he left as soon as we were all legally adults. As far as he was concerned, as long as we could fend for ourselves we’d be fine.” Gabriel sniffs, a few last tears escaping. “As for people who don’t consider me the scum of the earth, there’s always Cas.”

Sam starts, “Castiel? Is he a cousin or something?”

“Yeah, he’s my only cousin. My aunt and uncle died when they were touring on vacation with Cas. They got crushed in a building that was knocked over by _Goldblood_. It’s been a _long_ fight for him.”

Sam hums contemplatively, his mind racing and his heart aching for all that Gabriel has lost. “Well they’re all a great, big bag of dicks. Except for Cas.”

Gabriel snorts so hard he snots all over himself, laughing nasally. Sam chuckles at the look of resigned disgust on Gabriel’s face and, bunching up the sleeve of his jacket, uses it to wipe away the snot from Gabriel’s nose like he’s a toddler.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Gabriel swats at Sam’s hands indignantly. “Watch the goods _mom_!”

“Sure thing sweetie!” croons Sam, snickering at Gabriel, scrunching his face and trying to avoid the assault on his nose.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They end up climbing down from their perch once Gabriel no longer looks like a distraught, snotty mess. They make their way amongst the metal giants back to the lab, Gabriel giving a running commentary on each of the Jaegers currently in the hangar bay.

“This hangar used to house six Jaegers when it was at full capacity,” says Gabriel, staring up at the gleaming ebony and lapis lazuli blue hull of _Angel Blade_. “But now that we’ve been sidelined, we’ve only got these five Jaegers left.”

“Five left in the region?”

“Five left in the _world_ ,” corrects Gabriel.

“Jesus Christ,” exclaims Sam, shocked at the odds stacked against them.

“Pretty much,” Gabriel agrees. “But we’ve been stockpiling all the best weapons and loading them up onto the last resistance. So even if we blow the mission and fail spectacularly, at least we’ll go out with a bang.”

“What’s that?” asks Sam, pointing to the enormous revolver pistol docked beside _Angel Blade_.

“Oh, the gun? That’s the Colt. It’s a plasma canon that doesn’t have to be attached to the Jaeger to function,” says Gabriel. “Becky designed it. She went through this phase where everything had to be all Ol’ West and gunslingers and this is what we got out of the PPDC’s top anti-kaiju weapons expert.”

Sam cranes his neck up to try to get a better look at the massive pistol, and grins.

They stop in front of _The Archangel_ , her silver and gold plated hull glimmering softly in the hangar light. “You’ve already heard about _Angel Blade_ , so I’ll give you the basics for the rest of our arsenal. Obviously you know who pilots this particular model so I won’t bore you with their details,” Sam’s face darkens. “Oh lighten up sourpatch! They’re never with their tech crews anyways. They consider it beneath them to be mere mechanics and not warriors.” Gabriel pauses to roll his eyes. “They use the Lightening Strike formation, which is incredibly effective given the extra ammo and arm blades lining the outer structures.” He gestures to the massive arms of the Jaeger; the forearms lined with a dozen razor sharp blades each the size of a coach bus. The metal plating on the chest draws it up and out like a puffed up suit of medieval armour, the shoulder pieces drawing up to protect the vulnerable neck joints from attack. Thick, heavily layered legs draw smoothly down from under a thick-cut belt of knives the size of small tanker ships. “She was designed and assembled in Hong Kong, and she’s successfully defended it seven times. I guess it’s kinda fitting that its last mission is where it all started.”

They move past _The Archangel_ and onto where _The Vampirate_ is sitting, immobile with its weaponry spread out around its feet. “ _The Vampirate_ is piloted by Benny Lafitte and Viktor Hendrickson, from Louisiana and Milwaukee respectively. Although I’ve heard you guys already know each other. It’s one of the last T-90 tank models from Vladivostok.”

The Jaeger towers over its crew, watching silently as they move swiftly over its arsenal of weapons. Unlike _Angel Blade_ and _The Archangel_ , _The Vampirate_ has no humanoid head. The designers had instead placed the Conn-Pod in mid-torso for better pilot safety and so the head could be used for extra energy supplies and for better efficiency, given its older make and model. The Jaeger’s head is a massive, armoured cylinder that contained vast reserve stores of power and plenty of fuel necessary to power the twin incendiary turbines located on both of its shoulders. _The Vampirate_ was designed to be able to get in close, take a heavy hit, and then return the assault with interest.

Sam sees the familiar form of Benny, tall and stocky with three-day stubble and droopy eyes as he relaxes with a juice box on a coil of cables near the left foot of the Jaeger, while his co-pilot Viktor speaks quietly with a grease-stained engineer a few feet away.

Gabriel leads Sam across the walkway to the feet of the slim and sleek form of another smaller Jaeger. “This new puppy is _The Bloody Ghoul_ , it’s designed more for speed and accuracy, and so that’s why it doesn’t look like a bulky brick compared to the others. It’s not really made for hand-to-hand combat with kaiju, so it’s mostly the necessary backup when needed or sometimes a distraction to get the kaiju away from another Jaeger in a pinch.” The deep crimson hull of the Jaeger glimmers faintly from the tiny flames of the welding torches, the dark paint shimmering like freshly spilt blood. The twin blades strapped across the back and shoulders of the Jaeger give it a very mean looking quality, evidently meant to provide quick and lethal slices to its opponents while remaining light on its feet. “It’s piloted by two rookies fresh out of the academy: Adam Milligan and Kevin Train, both of them advanced placement. My only concern is their experience.”

“What about it?” asks Sam.

“Their lack of it,” Gabriel scoffs.

“Yeah that might be a little worrisome,” Sam says faintly.

“A bit.”

They move on to the last Jaeger occupying the hanger, crowded into the far corner closest to the great bay doors leading out to the ocean, it’s armour shining gold and copper in the dim light from the window streaming in the light from the sunset. “And _this_ beauty,” sighs Gabriel. “Is _The Roadhouse_. She’s the only surviving Mark V Jaeger in existence. The fastest Jaeger on earth, and a good thing too, she was just relocated from Sydney a week ago. Pretty good timing.”

Sam throws a half-hearted glare in Gabriel’s direction; the ill timed humour hitting Sam in some not-so-nice places inside him. The impending apocalypse is looming heavily on his mind, while Gabriel doesn’t seem too particularly fussed about the whole ordeal. Typical.

Sam watches as the tech crew cleans out the noxious kaiju blood from the blade retractors on its arms, scouring every inch of the internal mechanisms. Other workers run hoses to different sections of the robot: replenishing coolants, lubricants, and stores of oxygen. The six massive rocket tubes mounted on _The Roadhouse’s_ chest are being meticulously cleaned by three young women, a crane with fresh magazines of K-Stunner ramjet rockets waiting patiently to the side to be loaded.

“She’s pretty heavily armed,” says Sam, watching as more and more artillery is packed into every available crevice of the Jaeger.

“Well Commander Harvelle and her daughter slash co-pilot Jo will be running point.”

“Running point?” Sam asks, confused. “I wasn’t aware this was an offensive mission.”

“Yep,” Gabriel sighs expansively, hope shining weakly out of his amber eyes. “The Marshalls want to strap a thermonuclear warhead onto its back.” Gabriel squints contemplatively, “There’ll be something like twenty-four hundred pounds of explosives there.”

Sam blanches, “But that’s almost a detonation yield of… one point two million tons of TNT!?”

“Yep, and let’s hope it’s enough to light the bastards up all the way into whatever hellhole they crawl out of,” growls Gabriel. “Dean and Cas will be running defense for them with _The Archangel_ and _The Vampirate_. _Bloody Ghoul_ will be staying behind to guard the Shatterdome from anything and everything else.”

“Wait, where exactly did we get the nuke from?” Sam asks suspiciously.

“Dude, the Russians are very sympathetic to our cause,” Gabriel waggles his eyebrows conspiratorially. “We _like_ the Russians!”

Sam stays silent, and then reaches out a hand to ruffle Gabriel’s hair wildly. Gabriel flails and squawks indignantly, batting at Sam’s hand ineffectually. They head back to the lab, Gabriel’s short legs working double time to keep up with Sam’s long strides.

 

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Later, the both of them safely ensconced in the K-Science lab with the rest of the scientists, no one says a word as Sam gently lifts Trevor the lab Turtle out of his tank. Gabriel scribbles away busily at the top left corner of his chalkboard, his shirt smudged with chalk dust and leftover tears and snot. Ava watches suspiciously as Sam carefully duct tapes his old pocketknife to Trevor’s back, making sure the blade is far enough away from Trevor’s head so as to not hurt him. He then waits until Gabriel is climbing down the last few steps of his ladder to let Trevor loose onto the floor between the chalkboard and Gabriel’s desk.

“CATEGORY I KAIJU LOOSE IN THE LAB!” Sam screeches, and then he dramatically flings himself under the desk.

Becky leaps up onto her desk and Chuck passes out, while Ava nervously picks up her pointer stick, looking ready to deal out death and destruction. Gabriel drops down the last few steps onto the floor and freezes in fear, turning his body towards the room at large to face the unnamed threat. Until, his gaze lands on Trevor’s tiny form, armed and slowly making his way towards the chalkboard. Gabriel blinks, and then bursts out laughing so hard he doubles over, clutching his desk for support.

Everyone picks themself up off the floor warily, and they move to inspect the supposed kaiju threat. Becky coos at Trevor’s getup, Chuck takes a deep swallow from his flask, and Ava throws her pointer stick at Sam’s head like a javelin with rather alarming accuracy, just barely missing Sam’s left ear before burying itself in the concrete wall behind him.

Sam barely notices. He’s too busy watching Gabriel’s amber eyes shine from the inside out with pure, unadulterated happiness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so this chapter is written weirdly because most of it takes place within Dean and Cas' heads from within the drift. So I apologize if it seems scattered, but really, who thinks so logically when they're freAKING THE FUCK OUT???

After the initial roughness of the sparring match between Dean and Castiel, they smooth things out enough to become nearly inseparable. Everyone considers it odd given how stoic and serious Castiel is, compared with Dean’s recklessness and snark. It takes less than a week of training and banter for them to go from Dean and Castiel to simply _Dean and Cas_. Neither one can be found without the other being within earshot, and soon enough, everyone gets used to the change and it becomes common knowledge to look for both in order to find one.

The mood in the Jaeger hangar improves dramatically with the incredibly solid companionship between the two officers. Dean – when Castiel isn’t available to entertain him – spends more time with his Jaeger technicians. Given _Angel Blade’s_ extensive and intricate renovations it’s a simple fact that his crew will be incredibly intelligent and competent, as well as totally cuckoo-for-coco-pops crazy. 

Head technician, Pamela Barnes, leads the team; blind though she may be, there is no finer Jaeger wiring master within a thousand leagues in any direction. She spends her time combing the entirety of _Angel Blade’s_ circuitry to make sure each and every fuse and socket is functioning perfectly and in-tune with the pilots’ every thought. When she’s not busy being the female Leonardo Da Vinci of machines she’s usually found sucking back diet Coke after diet Coke in the crew pit and conning everyone out of their hard earned money at poker.

Pamela’s second in command is a laid back man named Ash, who prefers to go by the official title of Dr. Badass. A graduate of MIT and a fully certified genius – though he certainly doesn’t look the type, what with the mullet and cut off jean jacket – Ash is in charge of the inner workings and full functions of _Angel Blade’s_ plasma canons and other assorted weaponry.

Upon his first meeting with Ash, Dean makes the bright decision to offer him the last of his store of fine aged whiskey in return for a full report of all of _Angel Blade’s_ new arsenal – regardless of the fact that the Marshalls have labeled that under top classified. Ash had accepted and gleefully given Dean the full-guided tour of all the Jaeger’s shiny new toys.

Andy and Garth are a whole other barrel of monkeys. Andy introduces himself as the dude who’s in charge of all drift sequencing technology within the Jaeger’s Conn-Pod, and looks ready to wet himself when Dean steps forward to greet him properly. Dean just claps him on the shoulder and grins widely when he asks Andy about the warrior queen riding a polar bear on the back of his jacket. Andy simply smirks and says, “Trust me boss, you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

Garth is different in many ways. Where Andy is nervous and reserved, Garth is cheerful and unreservedly enthusiastic. He has a refreshingly optimistic outlook on their chances at defeating the kaiju once and for all, and Dean – for all the good it does him – actually believes Garth’s heartfelt speeches.

Garth’s rambling is interrupted by a slender redhead who gracefully inserts herself into the conversation to gently remind Garth to tell the nice man what his job actually is. Garth giggles and kindly informs Dean that he deals with all the coolants, lubricants, and other assorted chemicals involved in running a Jaeger and keeping the pilots alive and healthy. Charlie Bradbury – fiery redheaded queen and LARPer extraordinaire – introduces herself with a flourish and a smile and turns her laptop towards Dean to show him the endless lines of intricate computer code necessary to run all the Jaeger’s programming. Dean gets bored halfway through her excited explanation of how awesome the new the code is and gives her a friendly Wet Willy to break the ice. She squeals and bats his hand away while he laughs at her flailing.

A week after the Winchesters’ arrival at the Hong Kong Shatterdome, Cas is in a meeting with the commanders regarding some theory from the K-Science division, so Dean decides to bug his crew for fun.

“But guys!” he whines. “Why do I have to just sit around here? I mean I can’t even go bug Sam ‘cause he’s in the lab and I’m not allowed in there after that whole incident with the ammonia.”

Pamela sighs and pushes Dean off the pile of crates he’s perched on, Dean squawks indignantly and flails as he falls, “Quit your bitching Freckles!” she growls.

 “But I’m so fucking _bored_ and you guys won’t even let me help with anything!”

“That’s because this is our _job_ and yours is to pilot the damn thing.”

“But I can’t even do _that_ cause it’s not ready yet!”

“Well it’s going to be ready for the simulation later today so just be patient!”

“Simulation?” Dean’s face scrunches up in confusion. “I thought we were just using that beat up Conn-Pod simulator up on the training floor?”

Charlie guffaws from behind her computer, “Yeah well that thing is an ancient piece of shit so the bosses thought it’d be better for everyone to try it in an actual Jaeger.”

“Really?”

“Of course you dumbfuck! Why do you think we’ve been working crazy hours for the past week?” Dean takes a moment to glance around the team. Charlie has deep purple bruises under her eyes and her bright red hair is limp with exhaustion. Pamela’s fingers are bruised and covered in oil and other Jaeger components, Andy is nodding off over a tiny piece of circuit board at his desk, and Garth is slowly lugging jugs of coolant fluids towards the storage area – his normally cheerful self diminished. Ash has given up entirely and is sleeping soundly in a coil of cables.

“Well… when is the simulation?”

“Fuck if I know,” she snarls. “Go check with the Marshalls and quit bothering me, you little shit.”

Dean scurries out of the hangar quickly, not wanting to risk incurring Pamela’s not inconsiderable wrath. He makes his way past the bay doors and up towards the labs, passing around the busy Kwoon training center to avoid the newbies. Dean is raising his fist to knock against the LOCCENT doors when they burst open to let the Marshalls and Commanders bustle out – nearly knocking Dean over – with Castiel trailing behind them, his face blank and frozen in shock.

“Cas?” asks Dean worriedly, looking at Castiel’s pale face and his wide blue eyes. “Dude talk to me, what is it?”

Castiel swallows, gathering his nerves, “Apparently there is to be a drift simulation later this afternoon.”

“Yeah I’d heard from our pit crew,” Dean places a steadying hand on Castiel’s elbow for support. “So why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

This time, Castiel does look up. “Dean, I’ve only ever done any drift simulations in the Conn-Pod in the training center!”

“Yeah? And?” Dean raises his eyebrows, not understanding Castiel’s apprehension.

Cas scrubs his face with his hand, nearly knocking Dean in the face with his ever-present clipboard, “We’re scheduled to drift _in an actual Jaeger_!”

That’s when Dean gets it. Of course Cas would be terrified, he’s only dreamt about this moment since he was a child, so having this kind of pressure on him wouldn’t help with his nerves. Dean gently pries the clipboard from the death-grip Cas has on it and then – after throwing the clipboard to the floor and ignoring Cas’ moue of distaste – gently places his hands on either side of the younger man’s face to hold him steady.

“Cas, look at me.” Castiel slowly looks up, his cerulean eyes wide and panicked. “The Conn-Pod they use for simulations is the same as the one in _Angel Blade_. The only difference is that this one’s actually connected to a Jaeger, one that _you_ built I might add, and remember: it’s a Jaeger that you designed. So who else knows _Angel Blade_ as well as you do?”

Castiel swallows, “You do.”

“Exactly! And we’re drifting together so you’ll get to rummage around all my memories about every time I’ve drifted before this!”

Castiel’s nose scrunches in confusion, “And how exactly will that help me Dean?”

“Because it’s _me_ and you’re _you_ ,” Dean grins. “We’re drift compatible, and all you need to remember is not to chase the rabbit.”

“… I don’t understand that reference.”

“Don’t focus on one thing, just let the memories flow and don’t hold onto anything otherwise you’ll get stuck. Let the drift move with you and around you, and you’ll be fine,” Dean smiles, his thumbs rubbing gently over Castiel’s stubble. The young pilot relaxes minutely and nods, bending down to retrieve his discarded clipboard. Dean smiles down at him, his eyes crinkling, and he throws an arm around Castiel’s shoulder to lead the way to _Angel Blade’s_ hangar bay.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean is suited up and waiting in the Conn-Pod of _Angel Blade_ when Cas walks in, fully armored and holding his neural bridge helmet. He looks up as Cas strides in and his breath catches in his throat. He takes in the smooth, measured gait of Castiel’s stride, the sleek lines of the coal black drift suit hugging his lean form, and Dean notes the sure set to the younger man’s jaw. Dean swallows – his throat dry as the desert and pants significantly tighter – and pretends to be adjusting his own helmet.

“Hey Cas,” he manages to squeak out. “Ready for the ride of your life?” Castiel looks up and smirks at him. And Dean, upon realizing just how that phrase came out, facepalms.

“Yes of course,” says Cas. “Dean… why do you have your face in your hands? Are you unwell?”

“No! I’m fine!”

 “ _Alright ladies please stop with the rather outrageous flirting and for the love of **god** get with the suiting up. I’m not getting any younger here,_ ” Balthazar’s exasperated voice filters through the Jaeger’s communication lines from the LOCCENT.

“Yeah and you’re not getting any prettier either,” growls Dean.

“ _Such a uncouth American Mr. Winchester_.”

“Such a snooty Brit.”

“ _Rude._ ”

Dean snickers as he steps forward to strap Cas in. The blue-eyed man glances up at Dean and frowns, perplexed at the close proximity.

“Dean, you do know that I can adjust myself?”

“Yeah, I know,” says Dean, his voice low enough for Cas only. “Just remember, I don’t have all these fluffy, happy memories of my childhood. I was an active Jaeger pilot before this and my brain isn’t like it was before.” Dean pulls the neural cables forward to link to Castiel’s helmet. “I’ve drifted solo before and that does things to a person, and frankly I’m just lucky my brain isn’t scrambled egg right now. Besides, I used to do this for Sammy back when he was my co-pilot.” Dean grins. “Old habits die hard I guess.”

“ _DEAN! GET YOUR STUPID FRECKLED BUTT IN GEAR AND GET IN YOUR DAMN HOLDER!_ ” Sam’s voice thunders through the filter.

“JESUS CHRIST KEEP YOUR PANTIES ON SAMANTHA I’M WORKING UP TO IT!”

“ _FINE!_ ”

“FINE!”

Dean settles himself into his holder and starts to buckle himself in, with Andy coming in to finish the wiring on his helmet for him. Andy gives him an enthusiastic thumbs-up from the cockpit doors and then lets himself out of the Jaeger. Once the door is sealed, the initiation sequence begins.

“ _Neural bridge initializing_ ,” announces the LOCCENT system.

Conscious of the entirety of the Shatterdome waiting outside in the hangar, eager to see the newest Jaeger team in action – Dean looks over to Castiel one last time to meet his gaze.

“Remember Cas, _don’t_ chase the rabbit.”

Castiel nods once, his eyes flinty and determined, and takes a deep breath. Inside the LOCCENT, Balthazar starts the countdown.

“ _Initiating neural handshake in ten… nine…_ ”

“Deep breaths Cas.”

“ _Eight… seven… six…_ ”

“Let everything slide by you. Don’t latch on.”

“ _Five… four… three…_ ”

“I know Dean. I trust you.”

“ _Two… one… go_.”

 

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Cas standing in the driveway of his childhood home while his parents pack up the car to go to California for the summer. The smell of the concrete baking in the scorching July heat. The sound of cicadas buzzing in the hazy waves of heat coming off the ground. _Cas do you have all your things packed? Go get the sandwiches and the water bottles please. Okay mother. Thank you sweetheart!_

_Wow that’s the beach! Mother! Look at all the sand!_

_Castiel look, there is the ocean._

The endless stretch of glimmering blue water stretching until the distant horizon. The sound of swimmers laughing and yelling under the sun. The smell of a hot dog stand. _I am hungry when are we eating? Where are we going? When will we get there?_

The screeching of metal being wrenched apart and the white-hot-burning of the empty drift. _Where is Sam? Sam are you okay?_ Total blankness and blackness _. Where is my other half why is it so painful HELP ME!_

Cas and Dean’s consciousnesses overlapping each other, each hearing and feeling their strongest memories. _When I grow up I want to be a marine! Just like dad! Son if you keep that up you’ll do just fine._

_Mom._

_Dad._

Conflicting memories flitting across Dean’s mind: his father’s descent into an abusive alcoholic, and all the memories of his mother and her smiles. _Gone, dead, never coming back, I couldn’t save her._

_Mom._

_Dad._

Castiel’s excitement over arriving at their vacation destination. The feeling of mother’s soft hand holding mine. Father on my left. The ice cream cone melting onto my hand _._ The wailing siren of the kaiju alarm. _What is that sound? Mother what is happening? Why is everyone screaming?_ The blind terror on his mother’s face as she pulled him along towards the shelter. _Castiel shush we need to hurry or it will be too late!_

The ice-cold terror sliding down Dean’s spine inside _Black Betty_ against _Onibaba_. _SAM WHERE ARE YOU? Where did you go? Oh god he’s dead how could this happen SOMEBODY HELP ME!_ The crash of another jaeger coming to their rescue. The precious minutes it took to drag _Black Betty_ towards the Shatterdome and away from the kaiju’s destruction.

Cas could feel the residual panic in Dean’s mind settling into resignation, and then resolve. Dean could feel the anxiety thrumming like lightening underneath Cas’ skin.

In the silence of the Conn-Pod, the pilots twitch. _Angel Blade_ lifts its massive right arm.

Cheers broke out from the jaeger crews and techs below. Balthazar remains in his, riveted by the displays and maintaining perfect poise, conscious of Commander Harvelle and the Marshalls watching silently behind him. The graphic projections of Dean and Castiel’s brains rotating smoothly on the holographic display between them; the Pons monitoring system hails all well and indicates perfect neural stability between the pilots.

“Neural handshake one hundred percent and holding strong and steady,” announces Balthazar.

Inside the jaeger, Dean and Cas draw together, bringing their arms up to the starting Kwoon stance in perfect sequence.

“Can you feel it?” Dean asks, giddy with their success. “She’s an extension of yourself.” Dean didn’t need any verbal confirmation from Cas, the approval and excitement coming in loud and clear across his mind. Dean remembered the way they moved in synch in the Kwoon center in their sparring match, but the connection they’d felt there feels like a distant memory now. He slowly stretches his mind out, testing the boundaries, seeking out the places where his psyche ends and Cas’ begins.

 _Sammy_.

Drifting with Sam had always felt like snowboarding with a second person. Fast, strong, and solid as rock, even if it felt like you were never sure who was in control. Their drifting current had been full of hurricane force and invisible steel and felt nearly impossible to control and yet, it had been entirely _theirs_. They’d joined the academy when the kaiju attacks were still fresh wounds in the psyche of mankind and when being a jaeger pilot was tantamount to being a rockstar.

Cas is different. His mind is a finely polished sword, honed to a razor edge and ready to be drawn from its scabbard. His thoughts peaceful and under perfect control – coiled to strike like a cobra lying in wait.

 _Black Betty_ had belonged to the Winchesters like it was family and blood, and that would never change. Dean caught that thought as soon as it left his mind – Cas reacting to it and trying to pull away, the drift wavering – and reeled it back to squash it down.

_No Cas I didn’t mean it like that. That’s history, and Black Betty was mine-and-Sam’s. But it’s gone and I’ll have to learn that. And I’ve got a feeling you’ve got a few things to let go of too, ‘cause Angel Blade is **ours**. _

Dean shakes himself off. _Don’t screw this up Dean. Cas is **not** Sam and he never will be. Don’t hold on to Sam’s memories or you’ll end up chasing the rabbit._

“ _One step at a time darlings! You know the drill,”_ Balthazar drawls through the communications link.

 _Angel Blade_ moves through the initial stance sequence flawlessly, bringing up the jaeger’s right hand to block the upper body while the left hand balls up its fist and moves lower. Dean feels the immensity of the machine moving and breathing around him, and feels the pure awe radiating out of Castiel. Brief flickers of memory of his first drift in a real jaeger flit through his mind while Castiel picks through them quietly. Dean takes a deep breath and centers himself.

But when he looks over to his left, Cas isn’t there. Sam is.

“No-“

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Inside the LOCCENT, screens and displays flash brilliant shades of red in alarm. The neural handshake display distorting between the brain signatures: the pilots’ brains no longer in unison.

“Oh my god…” breaths Balthazar.

 _Angel Blade_ spasms and twitches away from an invisible blow – its right left arm tensing and swinging as if fighting off a kaiju – and the entire hangar grows silent.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 _Onibaba_ tears a great strip of metal off of _Black Betty’s_ left side leaving Dean’s arm in sheer agony. Dean grabs hold of his consciousness and yanks, trying to pull free of the memory. Dean knows he has to get himself under control and not chase the rabbit before it all goes south. Suddenly, the kaiju is right in their faces up close to the jaeger’s headpiece.

“What the-!?” exclaims Cas. Their right arm tenses, the connection tight.

“It’s okay Cas!” yells Dean. “Let me control it! I can handle this!” And suddenly, _Onibaba_ is gone and they’re standing amidst rubble and bodies and blood, and cars litter the street under a rain of ashes.

Cas freezes.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The LOCCENT explodes in fear and confusion.

“They’re both out of alignment! We need to shut it down!” screams Balthazar.

 _Angel Blade_ stops its thrashing and freezes. No one in the hangar moves a muscle; no applause sounds out, crews start backing away, and an alarm sounds out in the distance. The neural display panel blips once, and then dissolves into a wash of red and black warning signs.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Cas! _Cas!_ ” screams Dean, frantically trying to break through to Cas’ mind. The inside of the Conn-Pod fades away to the decimated streets of the Californian city. The neural handshake twists uncomfortably and then Dean smells the acrid scent of ashes, and the sounds of Jumphawk helicopters blaze by overhead. The metallic inside of the Conn-Pod is a distant memory as Dean steps carefully around the debris in the street.

Cas feels the dirty, scuffed plastic of the running shoe in his hand, the laces torn and broken and dangling precariously from the tips of the shoes. He feels the wetness of blood and mud crusted onto the bottom of his sock, the cutting bite of broken concrete digging into the sole of his foot.

“Mother? Father?”

Cas coughs, ash falling gently like snow between the buildings. The ground shakes with violent tremors – gradually getting closer – and the kaiju warning siren blares resolutely amidst the silence of the abandoned street.

“Where are you? Can anybody hear me?”

The vibrations intensify and Cas is knocked to his knees with the force of the rumbling, his shoe dropping to the ground. Cas looks – over ten stories up – into the hideous face of the enormous kaiju rearing up over the skyscraper beside him, the beast’s tank-like body and claws tearing the building to shreds like a hot knife through butter. It knocks the top half of the skyscraper into the next building – sending up a cloud of dust and debris – and pushes its way onto the main road. The kaiju’s body moves slowly but smoothly – low to the ground and built like a crab – each pointed leg gouging deep into the grey concrete as it steps closer to Cas. The massive clawed arms push away the rubble strewn across its path and its yellow slitted eyes lock onto Castiel’s tiny form – sprawled out in the dirt – frozen in terror.

The kaiju roars and Cas is already up and running as fast as his little legs can carry him – careening around corners and tripping over concrete and bodies – with tears streaming through the dirt smudged on his face. The sound of the kaiju’s footsteps like thunder and earthquakes and like the world is ending. Cas ducks around a corner and runs into a strange man wearing a black armored suit… mother told him never to talk to strangers, _but he looks like he’ll know what to do_!

“Mother said I had to wait for her but I lost her in the falling building and you need to help me!” his hands shake and he clutches his shoe to his chest. “Father said monsters weren’t real!”

The corner of the building behind him blows apart as the kaiju moves past it.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

In the Conn-Pod, Cas raises his left arm; the holographic display triggers the screen up ahead with a warning, _WEAPONS SYSTEM ENGAGED_. The LOCCENT is a flurry of activity as Balthazar scrambles to get control of _Angel Blade’s_ plasma canons as they deploy from the jaeger’s forearms. Crews on the ground floor scatter as the hangar is washed in red lights from the emergency alarms.

The plasma canons swing forward, barrels flaring to life as they begin to charge to full capacity, and excess heat pours out in waves from the great exhaust slats in the armor.

“Going to failsafe!” Balthazar yells, his voice cutting through the din. He slams his hand down onto the trigger, but the failsafe protocol does nothing.

Samandriel, Balthazar’s protégé, swivels his chair around anxiously, “No response sir! There’s a problem with the neural blocker!”

Balthazar pales, “Alright everybody get out of here _now_!” He then gets up and rounds to the other side of the control console to yank out all the cables he can, hoping to crash _Angel Blade’s_ systems. He grabs onto a larger cable with several strands of colourful wiring wrapping around it as people flood quickly out of the command center. Suddenly, Commander Harvelle and the Marshalls appear at his side, helping him to pull out as many cables as possible. Commander Harvelle rips out a thick conduit from the main panel, one of the main lines of power to the main LOCCENT terminal banks. Once all the small cables have been pulled the remaining PPDC in the LOCCENT look up into the hangar – only to see that _Angel Blade’s_ plasma canons are fully charged and glowing brightly. Balthazar shivers as he pries at the thickest set of fiber optic bundles of conduit length – thinking of the sheer amount of destruction and damage the plasma canons could do within the enclosed hangar space – and prays to whoever is listening, that humanity’s last hope won’t be brought down from the inside out.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The narrow alleyway shakes with the force of the kaiju’s steps. Windows crack and panes of glass smash down to rain sparkling down like shimmering diamonds amidst the grey dust and crushed vehicles. Cas huddles between an old dumpster and the wall, still clutching his running shoe, and trembles uncontrollably. He glances down the alley towards the wall at the end, knowing he can do nothing but wait until the monster comes closer, trapped in an open coffin of garbage and dirt.

“Cas!” Dean cries out frantically. “None of this is real! Snap out of it, it’s just a memory!”

Cas kneels down, puts his head between his knees and wails out, “Monsters are _real_!” Helicopters roar overhead – carrying an enormous robot – shadows passing over and blotting out the sunlight. Cas looks up just in time to watch the kaiju come steadily creeping around the corner, boxing him in.

_I’m going to die. Father lied, there are monsters and it’s going to kill me!_

And then the kaiju is yanked roughly out of view, screeching in rage the entire way, leaving the street empty. Cas sees the enormous craters left behind by the creature’s feet and claws, it’s cries of agony echoing from its fight with the giant machine. He carefully picks his way down the alley, keeping his back to the wall and his shoe tucked close to his chest, and peeks around the corner of the building. He ducks back and covers his ears as three cars come skidding down the street, knocked askew from the fight.

 _What could have grabbed that monster? Mother always said that guardian angels are watching over me… could angels be machines?_  He didn’t know what to think. Glancing back, Cas saw that the armored man was following close on his heels, looking close to tears with worry. Cas wanted to comfort him… but how could a little kid ever comfort an adult?

His ears rang as the kaiju grappled with the robot, sprawling back onto buildings and using a massive claw to knock away a glancing blow from the giant robot. The robot’s face shone blue with speckled drops of kaiju blood, congealing with the dust mixing into it from the air. It brings its fist down to smash against the kaiju’s plated head, knocking it back into a small park.  The air crackles as the robot brings its arm up, the gears and metal shifting and turning as its plasma canon charge to fire into the beast’s unprotected belly. The kaiju leaps up and rushes the robot as its canons finish charging, lighting up the street in a blazing flash like a thousand lightening bolts hitting the ground at once, with a sound like thunder.

Silence reigns briefly. Until the kaiju falls into Castiel’s view, its body crashing into the ground and toppling a MacDonalds with an impact that sends him sprawling into the dirt. Cas picks himself up and waits until the armored man runs over to him, still completely untouched by the dust and ash floating in the air. They step out onto the main street together and look towards the fallen kaiju: its corpse silent and smoking and oozing toxic blood out to melt the street.

Cas looks up, his ears ringing, as the robot steps into view. One of the robot’s arms is limp and heavily damaged, circuitry exposed and sparking at the shoulder joint. Oil and other fluids stream heavily down its sides, exposed through many gaping wounds. The robot is looking out towards the water – steam venting from ports opening all along the back of its head. Suddenly, a hatch bursts open from the top of the robot’s head, revealing an older blonde woman breaking out of her damaged helmet. The sun streams through her hair, turning it into spun gold, crimson staining down the left side of her face. She looks down towards Castiel with relief clear in her eyes, and Cas wants to scream at her.

_Father said there were no monsters._

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The LOCCENT is the first to be treated to the welcome sight of _Angel Blade’s_ plasma canons dying down; its operating lights and waste heat fading into nothing as the flow from the plasma focal chambers slowly dies away. The canon shifts and resets itself into the jaeger’s normal arm and slides down to rest at its side.

Inside the Conn-Pod, Dean feels the neural link break off for good, the black and silver plating of the jaeger’s inside coming back into view and the abandoned street fading away. Dean kicks loose of the platform, yanking his boots out of the step rotation pods, and leaps off to undo Cas’ bindings. He pulls desperately at his co-pilot’s headgear, musing on the memory he had seen, that he’d been a _part_ of.  Dean had known that Cas and Commander Harvelle had been close but he’d had no idea that she’d saved his life and protected him.

Cas falls limply out of the lashings, dropping into Dean’s arms like a puppet whose strings have been cut, and Dean gently lowers him to the floor to cradle Cas in his arms. No wonder Commander Harvelle had been reluctant to let Cas into the field, and no wonder why it was killing Cas not to go. He only wants to follow in the footsteps of the person who saved and raised him.

And now, “ _She’ll never let him fly,_ ” Dean thinks despairingly, “ _not after this._ ”

Dean cradled Cas’ head to his chest, making sure to keep him steady. Cas is still coming out of it and Dean knew that the second Cas woke up; he would feel the full weight of what he’d done.

And it would crush him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd update regularly but things got away from me and I started like 3 new fics in the meantime so I am SO sorry! I have the next few chapters in beta format so they'll be out in the next few weeks, so hopefully you can all bear with me a little while longer :')

Twenty minutes after the malfunction in the hangar, the Marshalls and Commander Harvelle are in the board room, their yelling muffled by the thick bulkheads between them and the young pilots waiting outside.

Dean glances over at Cas, only to see the younger man sitting on the bench and trying to make himself as small as possible, his face utterly miserable. Dean places a comforting hand on his shoulder and says nothing. He’d seen the thick printouts of engineering reports on _Angel Blade’s_ performance and he knows how much trouble they’re in. Understandably, Cas does too.

Inside the boardroom, chaos reigns.

“This is totally ridiculous!” roars Marshall Turner. “I gave your boy a chance ‘cause he’s been hanging around Jaegers longer than other humans and you _assured me_ that he would be up to the task of piloting one of humanity’s last shots at salvation!” He takes a deep breath, his face purple with rage, “They put everyone’s lives at risk in that hangar and everyone _else’s_ lives at risk with their incompetence! I do _not_ want them on the defense wing when the _Roadhouse_ goes to deliver the payload into the goddamn Breach.”

Marshall Singer looks over at Commander Harvelle, whose mouth is set in a grim line and who looks about two seconds away from committing bloody murder.

“My boy is at the top of his class and hell, he even got better scores than the fucking _newbies_ you’ve got piloting _Bloody Ghoul_!” Commander Harvelle snarls.

“She’s got a point Rufus,” mediates Marshall Singer. “One bad run doesn’t mean he’s a terrible pilot- ”

Marshall Turner shakes his head and interrupts with, “I know you don’t want to hear it but those boys just aren’t ready for combat. At least Cas isn’t.”

Commander Harvelle steps forward, “But we’re still examining _Angel Blade_ and if there was a mechanical failure- ”

“I am not entirely sure your feelings are professional. _Either_ of you,” he glances up, his eyes hard. “We were all in the first generation of Jaegers and we watched the next generation of rangers come up and stand next to us to lead the next charge. There are a few things we have to face with this. One: they might not be as good as we are. Two: either way, they’re still going to take over for us one day. But the thing is, if we let them go out too early we’ll just be killing them – and us – earlier.”

“Ask yourself this,” counters Marshall Singer. “Would you rather have some half-baked pilots, or no pilots _at all_?”

“Bobby,” Rufus sighs, “I seriously hope those aren’t our only options.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean and Cas are waiting outside, sitting silent and awkward until the boardroom doors crashes open to reveal two resigned Marshalls and one severely pissed off Commander. Commander Harvelle takes one look at them and storms off in the direction of the LOCCENT, while Marshall Turner motions for the young pilots to follow him inside. Cas shrinks further in on himself and Dean aches to hold him and reassure him, but he doesn’t dare with the Marshalls’ eyes on them.

Marshall Turner takes a deep breath, “You were out of line officer Novak. You were not supposed to be among the candidates for Mr. Winchester’s co-pilot but you did well in the Kwoon center and your recommendations from my colleagues were exceptionally high. It is my fault entirely for letting this go on as long as it did. I am sorry but you are relieved of your co-pilot candidacy, and have been reassigned to _Angel Blade’s_ tech crew once more.” He looks between Dean and Cas, his eyes full of regret. “And you, Winchester. You’re grounded until further notice. Thank you. You’re dismissed,” and swiftly moves to leave.

Cas just nods once, standing rigidly at attention and his eyes wet with tears he refuses to shed. Bobby’s eyes meet Dean’s and he feels a red-hot swell of rage for the men who’ve led Cas to believe he was finally getting a chance at his dream.

“This is _bullshit!_ ” snarls Dean.

“Dean –”

“No don’t ‘Dean’ me! You know just as well as I do that the only reason Cas isn’t being given a second chance is because he’s like a son to you and the Commander! You just don’t want him to get killed like his parents!”

“ _Boy don’t you dare take that tone with me_ ,” Marshall Singer growls dangerously. “We should’ve never let you drift with a newbie, no matter how goddamn highly he scored in the simulations. It doesn’t matter that you two looked good dancing and fighting in the Kwoon center, what matters is the success of the mission.”

Dean barks out a laugh, sarcasm and disbelief dripping from every syllable, “Yeah, right. So the fact that you wanna play daddy to him has absolutely _nothing_ to do with it?”

Bobby sets his jaw angrily and turns to gather up the reports on the table. Dean reaches out and roughly grabs him around the arm to yank him closer, “I call parental bullshit here _Marshall_. The only issue you have with Cas is that you and the Commander think of him as a son and not a _soldier_. In case you haven’t noticed, this is a war, and plenty of other soldiers are somebody else’s sons and they’re still fighting and dying everyday so what makes you think he’s some delicate flower that needs to be protected huh?” Dean heaves in a ragged breath, fighting the urge to grip Bobby’s arm harder. “The person you’re hurting most with this bureaucratic nonsense is _Cas_.”

Marshall Singer looks over at Cas – still standing at attention – and turns around to begin the long trek back to the LOCCENT.

The pilots file out of the room and out into the hallway, Sam and Gabriel waiting silently for them.  Dean looks into Sam’s eyes and sees the same rage, with a hint of pity lurking behind it. Gabriel brushes a comforting hand down Sam’s arm – Dean catalogues the motion in his mind to ask Sam about later – and strides over to Castiel to fold him into a hug.

“Don’t worry kiddo,” Gabriel says softly, rubbing circles into Castiel’s back. “You gave it your best shot.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, smiling gently. “No one can fault you guys for trying.”

“Thank you. Both of you,” Cas mumbles despondently into Gabriel’s jacket.

A loud, derisive snort sounds out behind them, and the group turns towards the intruders.

“Actually I think they just _did_ fault you for it sweetheart,” croons the brunet.

Gabriel narrows his eyes, “Michael,” he says acidly. “The greatest bag of dicks in the history of ever.”

Dean watches Sam’s posture stiffen minutely from the corner of his eye, noting the rigid stance and the venom bleed into his brother’s eyes.

“Now, now,” drawls the second man. “They _did_ try their best. Even if it was far from the best.”

“And Lucifer too,” Gabriel scowls, “Wonderful. The gang is all here.”

Dean looks back at Castiel, shrinking in on himself miserably and looking like he wishes nothing but for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

Dean knows the feeling.

Dean steps in front of Cas protectively, “Hey douchebag, why don’t you lay off Cas. It’s none of your goddamn business what went on this afternoon.”

“Oh but that’s where you’re wrong,” Michael smirks. “You two, or rather _you_ , now that Cas is out of the picture, are responsible for our defense during the bomb run. And it’s been what? Five years since you last jockeyed a Jaeger? That is a lifetime in Jaeger tech and you know it. I actually want to come _back_ from this mission, because, you know, _I_ actually have a life.” He swaggers up to Dean, not breaking eye contact, “So why don’t you do us all a favour and quit? It seems like it’s the only thing you’re good at.”

Dean could swear he felt it once Cas had had enough, the remnants of the drift filtering through his mind like cool grains of sand.

“Stop,” Cas says firmly, “Now.”

Dean presses a hand to Cas’ chest, gently holding him back. He doubts Cas would actually take a swing at Michael – and he stacks the odds at roughly fifty-fifty that Cas could take him down – but he’d be damned if Cas got stuck in solitary because of a fist fight with a cousin who has major daddy issues.

Cas stops. Michael doesn’t.

“That’s right, hold back your boyfriend,” Michael sneers. “One of you bitches needs a leash.”

That was it.

Dean punches him in the face.

The punch rocks Michael backwards, but he’s not made of glass, and so he bounces back and swiftly pops Dean on the jaw.

Oh. _It’s on now bitch_.

This is no calculated and measured match in the Kwoon center – with designated routines and techniques; this is a fucking _brawl_. Dean locks onto Michael and they hit the wall with enough force to rattle Dean’s teeth. Dean cracks a flurry of right hooks to Michael's face, and Michael responds with a series of violent blows to Dean’s ribs. Dean grimaces as agony lances through his side, the shots grating painfully against bone. The pounding of fists, combined with the slamming of bodies into the metal walls of the Shatterdome, draws out a curious crowd from the surrounding tech offices and labs. People ranging from assistants to scientists, LOCCENT operators to military personnel: all crowding into the hallway to watch the fight.

Dean pays no mind to their audience, knows that people are watching, and yet all he focuses on is punching Michael until he can never open his filthy mouth again. He lands a shot to Michael's gut and thinks, _You never felt your brother pass out at the helm_. Dean smashes his fist into Michael’s temple, _You never ran through a crumbling city looking for your dead parents_.

Michael gives as good as he gets, blacking Dean’s eye and kneeing him in the balls, all to get the jump on him. One of Michael’s punches socks Dean right in the ear, and he hears the echoes of the drift surging through his mind. Michael clips him again, and Dean literally sees stars.

The fight turns when Dean gets his weight under Michael and drives him right into the wall, completely knocking the air out of Michael’s lungs. But that doesn’t stop Michael from raising his forearm to elbow Dean in his bad shoulder, driving a sharp spike of pain down his arm. Dean moves with it, and brings his own palm up to give Michael a vicious undercut to his lower jaw. The other pilot sags bonelessly for the briefest of moments, and Dean slams him down onto the floor. Michael desperately tries to spin away, but Dean catches his arm and twists it. Dean feels the shoulder joint tense against its limits, knows that one little twist at the right angle is all it would take to pop the arm right out of the socket. It’s all a matter of applying the right pressure at the right place…

“Alright gents, break it up!” barks Lucifer, suddenly right in Dean’s personal space.

Dean slowly lets go of Michael’s arm, keeping a wary eye on Lucifer the whole time, and backs away with his arms raised in peace. Michael furiously bursts up from the floor, not finished with the fight, and takes a wide and uncoordinated swing at Dean. Dean ducks the blow as easily as he’d dodged the cadets in the Kwoon center earlier that week, and even if he hadn’t dodged, Lucifer was immediately there to bodily hold Michael back from anymore attempts at fighting.

“ _This is over_ ,” hisses Lucifer, directly in Michael’s face. “You’re a ranger, so _act_ like one!” Michael passes one last scathing look towards Dean before storming off down the hall, hugging one arm to his ribs gingerly.

Dean turns on the balls of his feet to check on his ragtag family: Sam, giving the smuggest look possible to Michael’s retreating form; Gabriel, grinning gleefully at Dean; and Cas, coiled tensely and ready to strike at a moment’s notice, looking uncomfortably proud.

Satisfied, Dean turns back to Lucifer, only to see the blond man laughing his ass off.

“I just beat the shit out of your brother… and you’re, laughing about it?”

“Yeah I know,” Lucifer scrubs a hand down his face, his giggles not subsiding in the least. “Don’t get me wrong, ‘cause I love my brother, I really do. But it’s _way_ past time for someone to beat his stupid ass. It was nice to see him get his ass handed to him.”

Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners, “Jesus fucking Christ you’re _such_ a weirdo,” he shakes his head. “At least try and control him a bit, just ‘cause he’s some hotshot pilot doesn’t mean it gives him a free pass to be a dick.”

Lucifer turns and starts to make his way down the hall, “Oh I’ll try Freckles,” he waves without turning around. “But I can’t make any promises.”

After Lucifer rounds the corner, Sam breaks out into giggles of his own.

“Shut the fuck up Sammy.”

“He called you _Freckles_!”

“I… do not understand. Is this a fact or a term of endearment?”

Gabriel clutches at a pipe on the wall and wheezes through his laughter.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 _Fortune favours the brave,_ Sam grouses to himself, pushing his cart.

Several hours later and thousands of miles from any decent tech equipment – at least parts that other people are willing to fund – Sam finds himself ducking into crew bays, abandoned warehouse compartments, and bartering with tech jockeys near the LOCCENT for spare PONS parts. An outdated processor, fiber-optic and fluid-core cabling for better bandwidth, as well as leads and pilfered copper contact pins. Sam catalogues what he has and considers the monitor and solid-state recording drive back in his lab.

Realistically speaking, building a PONS is actually quite easy. It’s getting the neural calibrations just right that’s the hard part, especially when it’s only one person who will be drifting, kaiju brain not included. Sam muses on the sheer insanity of his goal: to swap neurotransmissions with a silicate cerebellum.

Re-entering the lab, Sam pulls out his phone to fire off a quick message to Dean telling him that he won’t be joining him and Cas for dinner.

_Got a hot date Sammy? ;)_

_Oh you bet._

_!!!!! GIMME THE DETAILS BABY BRO !!!!!!_

_Not on your life._

_So mean :(_

_:)_

Sam gets to work immediately, shoving piles of stuff off his desk and out of the way, stacking data reports and a detailed copy of a kaiju’s small intestines against his old toy model of _Trespasser_ and carefully moving his specimen jars to the set of shelves near the steel refrigerator at the back of the lab.

The basics of a PONS are relatively simple. You need an interface on each end so that the brains of the drifters can connect and merge, acting as a facilitator for neural signals to flow to the central bridge. A PONS needs a processor capable of organizing and merging the two sets of signals as well as an output source so that the drift data can be collected, organized, and studied at a later date. This, the data, is what Sam needs the most.

 _But that’s about it,_ Sam thinks, as he solders together a series of leads made from copper contact pins and the short fluid-core cables. He eyes a webbed skullcap sitting discarded on Becky’s desk, the cascade of red cables coming out of the top of it to act as the neural interface between his brain and the kaiju’s.

For the kaiju brain, Sam gathers all the fluid-core cables together into a single massive coil, and unites them to the heavier cable linking the tank to the PONS processor. Retrieving the skullcap, he attaches the many leads to another array. Now that the two interfaces are sorted out, Sam turns his attention to the middle processor. More importantly, he starts to work on making sure it can hear and record everything to be examined later.

Or, if humanity’s first human-kaiju drift kills him, so Gabriel can look at everything and figure out where it all went wrong. He pauses at the thought, the idea that Gabriel might find his lifeless body hooked up to the PONS, blood pouring from his eyes and nose and totally unresponsive. Pushing that uncomfortable thought to the back of his mind, Sam turns towards the processor coding system. No need to worry, it’s only a small section of the brain.

Pulling out the small portable welding set shared by their entire lab, Sam pulls down his safety goggles and starts to make sure each thick coil is secure enough to be able to handle the sheer mass of data output from the drift. After checking his handiwork, Sam throws the goggles over his shoulder and grabs the last few copper pins to drive deep into the kaiju brain, wrinkling his nose at the putrid smell of embalming fluid. When all the pins are properly in place, Sam connects the trunk cable to the processor and turns on the holoprojector to check the data output recordings.

All set.

Sam takes a brief moment to wash his hands of the oily kaiju juice and hopes that when biographers write about his scientific genius, that they will include all the work he spent soldering and cobbling together a PONS from pieces of scrap lying around the entire Shatterdome. He also hopes they’ll leave out the part where he’s only about ninety-five percent sure this will work, all of Gabriel’s fancy numbers be damned. Walking back to his desk, Sam scoops up the tiny audio recorder wired to the homemade processor.

“Time is,” Sam checks his watch. “Just after eighteen hundred hours. Kaiju/human drift experiment, take one.”

Picking up the skullcap, Sam carefully tucks his hair under the tight material and checks and double checks the fit of the liquid-core trunk cable leading to the processor from his head.

“Brain segment: frontal lobe. Chances are the sample is far too damaged to actually drift with. However, neural activity is still detectible.”

 Sam’s hand rests gingerly against the switch that will activate the drift sequence, but jerks his hand away as a thought occurs to him.

Sam scoops up the recorder, “Unscientific aside. Gabriel, if you’re listening to this, I’m either alive and proving what I’ve just done, in which case HAH! I’ve won!” Sam blows a rude raspberry into the device and continues on. “Or I’m dead. And in which case you need to know that it’s you who drove me to this and it’s your fault, and that I won. Kind of.” Sam facepalms. “Whatever, I rule and you drool.”

Sam scrunches his eyes closed, and presses the activation switch.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sam has drifted extensively before this, and he knows his brother’s mind like the back of his hand. But this, this is entirely different. The kaiju’s mind is so completely alien from his that his first instinct is to completely recoil and reject the connection, but he forces himself to remain still and let the drift flow.

_He’s a boy, playing at the beach with Dean and building a sandcastle. The same lake where they used to rent a cottage for the weekend for fishing and barbeques and s’mores._

_The lake shimmering darkly, and the skies growing stormier and turning a deep, angry blue. The water surging, getting heavier and thicker and terrifyingly alive._

_Oh my god,_ Sam’s mind blanches in sheer terror, _this isn’t the lake. What the hell is this!?_

The skies of the Antiverse rage an angry red and the lake heaves and sloshes a bio-slurry of fluid and channeled into great sacs, and inside the sacs, things move and grow.

 _This satisfies him as it satisfies the Precursors_.

Sam feels his mind toss and turn the word over and over, spiraling deeper into his own consciousness in an attempt to locate it.

_Where did I get that word? I’ve never even heard it before!_

_Oh my god no the kaiju is talking to me-_

_Precursors looking down and surveying all. Minds cold and empty save for the hunger to conquer and control. Precursor is power._

_Icy blue city made of bone and flesh and blood. Bred and grown not built but dying as the world loses energy. Sam is one of them he is not one of them they realize they are being watched._

Sam watches with a detached horror as one of the great sacs splits open as a newborn monster surges out, slick with amniotic fluid and blood, it carves its way out of the thick membrane and looks up.

_Behind the new monster, the factory._

_The factory._

_Massive bone and blood structure towering under dying skies and sacs and watchers and the churning bio pools from which the monster were given life._

_A new monster, like Mutavore but larger, wings deformed and broken and it is pushed back into the slurry to be reabsorbed and reconstructed. Another rises in its place from the lake._

_Mom always loved the lake, especially the sunbathing._

Realization crashes through Sam’s disjointed thoughts as the intensity of the drift comes under his control, clarity rushing in to bring the cold, hard truth of the kaiju.

_That kaiju already died._

_The Precursor turned to look at him and it knew him and it knew his kind. Knew his new and untainted world with fresh supplies and resources a-plenty. Knew that they were ready for a new world and that it is ready and that they had waited a life age to claim this new paradise and now. They are ready._

_They are certain and they are coming._

_Dean’s shrill laughter as the waves bring down their sandcastle mingles and clashes with the metallic screeching of the creatures being birthed from the pools._

_The Precursor laughs deep in its bone belly and muscles hard from past conquest and this will be no different we are coming-_

_Sam!_

_The kaiju know my name?_

_Freshly born kaiju bursting forth from the lake of his childhood._

_Who is calling me?_

_SAM!_

_Gabriel?_

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Sam! Oh god, Sam wake up!”

Sam comes back to himself gradually, his mind slowly reintegrating with his body, sensations and smells and sights coming back into sync with his brain.

“Come on Samsquatch! You can’t be dead!”

“M’not dead,” Sam mumbles, his head pounding a sharp staccato beat of pain as he feels wet, hot blood trailing thickly out of his nose.

“Oh thank _god_ ,” Gabriel’s relief is profound, his hands coming up to hold Sam’s head up to look into his eyes.

“Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again kiddo!” snarls the mathematician, hands shaking minutely.

Sam smirks triumphantly, “I told you I could do it."

Sam watches as Gabriel’s face smoothes out in utter disbelief, exasperated fondness bleeding from every pore, and then starts as the smaller man plasters himself around the scientist like an octopus. Gabriel’s fierce hug knocking the wind right out of Sam and oh, when did he end up on the floor?

“Sam? Hey, how are you feeling?” Gabriel pulls away gently, his eyes darting up and down Sam’s torso with razor like intensity.

Sam grins, “Feelin’ peachy keen doc.”

And promptly blacks out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this fic got away from me quickly. I'm gonna have to space out the next few chapters more than I'd originally anticipated because I get really wordy and stupidly long-winded whenever I have to write battle scenes so the next 2 or 3 chapters will be almost entirely the battle of Hong Kong and/or Sam's progress through the Boneslums. Cheers!

Sam’s mind slowly comes back to him in a steady trickle of memories and sensations. The smooth surface of the cup of water Gabriel had haphazardly pushed into his hands, the sharp tang of ammonia in the air, and the dull rattling through his skull from the Precursor’s screams. Even now, the rage and pure animalistic instincts fly through his bloodstream like a vicious shot of heroin, pumping his muscles full of nervously cancerous energy.

Sam barely feels human.

The intensity of the drift was not something he had anticipated, and the costs of his experiment manifest in the bleeding nose, bloodshot eye, and mental instability all currently vying for attention in his body.

Afterimages of heaving seas, bloody kaiju limbs, and the skewed sensory spectrums of the kaiju’s consciousness lie seared into the forefront of Sam’s brain, occasionally superimposing over his vision. Understandably, it’s a little hard to focus. Especially when Marshall Turner and Commander Harvelle storm imperiously into the lab with Gabriel following hot on their heels, the latter wearing a worried expression that melts seamlessly into relief at seeing Sam upright and relatively stable.

Sam grins up at the Marshall, manic glee and triumph plainly written on his face, “As usual, I was right!” Sam glances slyly over at Gabriel and winks dramatically, “Gabriel? Not so much.”

Gabriel snorts derisively, his eyes twinkling, “Sweetheart, I think you and I have different definitions of what constitutes being right. Especially since you look like you just went a couple rounds with a blender.”

“ _Shut it_ you two goddamn lovebirds,” Harvelle growls, as Marshall Turner pulls up a stool and takes a seat. “Specifics. And don’t leave anything out Winchester.”

Sam takes a shaky sip of water before speaking, “Okay so, I only used a small section of the brain so I didn’t get a totally cohesive picture. All I got was a bunch of flashes and images, like, you know when you blink your eyes over and over again? It’s that kind of effect.” He winces as searing pain flares briefly through his temple. “But, it was more… emotional?”

Sam looks up to judge Gabriel’s reaction, and judging by the sceptical look and tense posture, it’s not getting through.

“Sorry, okay,” Sam pushes on valiantly. “What I _mean_ is that it didn’t feel like they were just going off pure instinct, hunting and gathering that sort of thing, _NO_!” Gabriel starts, and the Marshall goes completely still at Sam’s outburst. “They’ve been manufactured. And that’s why their cells hold the collective memory for the species!”

Marshall Turner frowns, “They’re breeding?”

“Yes, and at the same time a huge resounding no,” Sam takes another fortifying sip of water. “I mean they have reproductive organs and all that but it’s more like- “

Sam gasps as a fresh wave of memories cascade through his consciousness, not a kaiju, something far more malevolent watching him. With angular faces, bony body structures, and older than the very foundations of earth: the Precursors. The scientist convulses in his seat and he’s distantly aware of someone taking his glass of water from him, the memories bringing forth a fresh wave of terror.

“Sam!?” Sam opens his eyes, meeting Gabriel’s wide and terrified gaze not five inches from his face.

“You have _really_ nice eyes Gabriel,” Sam drawls, loopy from the pain.

“Thanks kiddo,” Gabriel smiles, gently running his thumbs down Sam’s cheekbones as he keeps the taller man upright in his seat. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam wipes the fresh blood from under his nose and soldiers on. “I think they have a boss, or bosses, and that they’re attacking under orders.” Gabriel carefully lets go of his face, and moves to stand behind Sam, unobtrusively ready to grab him if need be.

“We thought we were fighting monsters, but really we’re fighting organic weapons! The kaiju are silicate-based organic automata. They were designed, built, and created solely for this war.”

“That’s impossible,” Commander Harvelle says flatly, her eyes hard and calculating.

Sam glares up at her from under his hair, “No it’s not. They’re colonists. They overtake worlds, consume them and their resources, and then move on to the next. And they’ve been here before for a trial run!”

When no immediate comprehension is forthcoming, Sam sighs exasperatedly and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Hello? The dinosaurs? Do they ring a bell?” Sam waves his hands excitedly as he speaks and takes immense satisfaction at the dawning looks of comprehension. “But, the atmosphere wasn’t conducive to their species so they had to wait. And really, what’s a hundred million years to them? Nothing! Now, what with ozone depletion, carbon monoxide, polluted waters… hell, we practically terraformed it for them!”

Another wave of memories, smaller and less potent, sweeps across his eyelids.

“The kaiju…” Sam trails off, and then shakes out his shoulders. “The reason I found identical DNA in two separate samples is because they’re grown, fabricated, and assembled. All made of spare parts! They’re living weapons Marshall,” Sam looks up pleadingly, willing them to understand. “The first wave was just a scouting party, the categories one to four. Their sole purpose was to clean out the vermin, us! By aiming for the populated areas, and the next wave are the exterminators, and they _will_ finish the job. And after that, the new hosts will take possession of earth.”

Sam glances around the lab distractedly, his head weaving side to side frantically.

“Gabriel quit hovering and feeling sorry for yourself just because I’m everyone’s new favourite K-Scientist. Did you get a chance to look at the drift recording?”

“I was otherwise occupied with saving your fucking life Moose Boy,” Gabriel replies icily.

“What is it you need Winchester?” Marshall Turner cuts in, his tone brooking no quarrel and daring them to continue.

“I tried to make a recording of the sensory impressions from the drift-“

Gabriel brandishes a printout with garbled words and half-formed images, “You mean this? Your recording is fragmentary and is practically useless. Maybe there’s a few images her that can help our division but-“

“Shut up,” orders Harvelle.

“Shutting up,” Gabriel’s mouth clicks closed, his eyes promising retribution.

“I need you to do this again,” commands Turner.

Sam laughs right in the Marshall’s face, bold and uncaring, “Right, let me just run out and get a fresh brain sample from Walgreens. Sir, with all due respect, I can’t do jack shit unless you happen to have a fresh kaiju brain lying around.”

Turner and Harvelle glance over at each other speculatively.

“Wait,” Sam’s eyes narrow. “Do you?”

“There’s a man in the Boneslums,” Harvelle begins. “We do some… business with him.”

Gabriel squints suspiciously, “business? I thought we get our parts from the government funded labs?”

“Kid, we haven’t gotten any decent kaiju samples from them in months,” Turner grouses. “They’re more interested in destroying every bit of’em rather than studying’em. So, we had to turn to less… _civilized_ methods.”

“Black market dealers,” Sam clarifies.

“Precisely. I don’t care who we buy kaiju tissues from, I don’t care that you took a bolt cutter to the door of the repair bay for the _Vampirate_ , what I _do_ care about is that you understand what you are about to do. So please turn your rather skittish attention towards the monitor.”

Sam rallies his thoughts, valiantly pulling them into one cohesive unit as Gabriel places a firm hand on his shoulder as an anchor.

“Don’t worry so much kiddo,” Gabriel murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “They can’t _all_ get to us here.”

Sam looks up at the mathematician and smiles softly, “I wish I could believe you.”

“This,” barks Turner, “Is Crowley. First name unknown, born in England, nigh untraceable.” The figure on the screen grows larger as the screen zooms in, back to the camera and dressed in a fine black suit with neatly combed hair, while hordes of his minions scurry about over the corpse of a fallen kaiju – the repeating time loop of the short video providing little detail about the Crowley’s face. “He runs the kaiju black market trade in all of Asia.”

Sam and Gabriel trade looks of stunned disbelief before turning towards the Marshall.

“When our government funding ran out I turned to him for help. In return, we granted him exclusive rights to all kaiju remains in the region.”

“Holy shit,” breathes Sam.

“Does this make us his minions?” hisses Gabriel. “I mean the entire Pan-Pacific Defense initiative is apparently being funded by a black marketer who recoups his investments by selling parts of the kaiju whose killing he’s financed!”

Sam snorts, impressed in spite of the moral dilemma, “talk about a public-private partnership.”

Gabriel slaps him upside the head.

“Last days of war kids,” Turner holds out a small orange card and a slim luma lamp. “Winchester, take this and go to the corner of Fong and Tull. If anyone can help us, it’s him.”

Sam took the paper gingerly, turning it over and pointing the luma lamp at the card, revealing the stylized kaiju skull marking it translucently.

“And a word of advice.”

Sam looks up.

“Don’t trust him.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

After Marshall Turner and Commander Harvelle leave, Sam rinses the sour taste of blood out of his mouth and presses a damp washcloth to his face to wipe away the blood and grime, sweat cooling unpleasantly down his neck. Grabbing a fresh shirt from the K-Science lockers and flailing into his jacket, Sam grabs the orange card and his luma lamp and makes towards the lab doors.

Until a pair of small hands grab desperately at his arm to stop him from leaving.

“Sam!” Gabriel pants, his golden eyes wide and frantic. “Why don’t we just send some PPDC officers down to meet him? It’s a helluva lot safer and you need to rest! Your brain nearly got scrambled by a _piece_ of kaiju brain!”

“Gabriel-“

“Oh _no_! Don’t you ‘ _Gabriel_ ’ me!” Gabriel grabs Sam’s face and pulls him close, their noses almost touching. “You have _nothing_ to prove. You’re perfect exactly as you are, and you don’t need to change a _thing_.”

Sam’s eyes widen in shock, surprised at the outburst of genuine emotion from his usually sarcastic lab companion, and he slowly relaxes into the gentle hold of chalk-dusted hands. He raises his own hands to where Gabriel’s hold onto his face, dwarfing the smaller ones and linking their fingers together. Sam watches as Gabriel’s cheeks flush scarlet at the close scrutiny, and affection spreads through his insides like warm honey.

“Thanks Gabe,” Sam murmurs.

Gabriel relaxes minutely, the worry lines on his face smoothing out softly and his pink lips parting in surprise.

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” Sam’s thumb rubs gently against the back of Gabriel’s hand. “Everything will work out, don’t you worry.”

“But-“

Gabriel never gets to finish his sentence as Sam leans down and presses his lips to the mathematician’s. Gabriel melts against Sam’s large frame, small hands fisting in the material of the biologist’s jacket and holding on for dear life as Sam turns his legs into jelly. Sam runs his tongue gently along the seam of Gabriel’s mouth, before delving into the hot cavern and tracing along the smooth pink tongue of the mathematician. Sam’s hands curl around Gabriel’s face possessively as the older man moans hotly into the biologist’s kiss. Sam nips at Gabriel’s lips playfully as he pulls away, smugly enjoying the dazed look of pleasure on his colleague’s face.

“Don’t wait up for me babe,” and then he dashes out of the lab.

“What- I just- what the- WINCHESTER YOU _SON OF A BITCH_!”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sam unfolds his massive frame out of the cab at the corner of Fong and Tull, quietly observing the hustle and bustle of the Boneslum residents. Officially known as the Hong Kong Exclusion Zone, the area plays host to a multitude of small communities that residents reclaimed after a series of small tactical nukes desolated the quarters before the Jaegers were built. No one had expected anyone to move back in so soon, but then again, no one expected so many kaiju. Now known affectionately as the Kowloon Boneslum, the enormous kaiju skeleton provides housing and shelter for the thousands of crafty residents and the kaiju’s skull providing both a place of worship, and a convenient tourist destination for some of the braver visitors.

Sam looks up at the structures towering precariously overhead, buildings leaning on and built around the massive ribcage of the decimated beast. Things get rebuilt quickly, he notices, the city absorbing the intruder and making it a part of it’s own body. The biologist’s eyes alight on a construction sign standing unobtrusively at the corner of the intersection, conveniently the same colour as the card the Marshall gave him.

Pulling out the slim luma lamp from his pocket, Sam shines it on the card, watching the bone glyph light up on the paper.

_A sign. Follow the trail. Find it._

Sam looks around and tries to surreptitiously blend in with his surroundings, a difficult feat considering his unfortunately tall figure contrasting sharply with the much smaller native residents. He tries the lamp on a bus shelter, on a pylon, and finally, the construction sign. The tiny glyph at the corner of the sign gives Sam a hot, heady rush of success through his system, giving him just the push to keep going.

Sam follows a series of signs throughout the narrow alleyway, moving to an unsteady gangplank leading up to the second level of the Boneslums among the more residential quarters. He plays the lamp here and there, on doorframes and signposts and walls and windowsills. Eventually, the lamp turns up a glyph right on the storefront of a small apothecary.

 _Figures_ , Sam grouses, _a guy like Crowley would totally run this kind of place_.

Sam pushes the door open, jingling the tiny bells clustered at the top, and walks into the store. Rows upon rows of small, neatly labelled boxes line the walls from floor to ceiling, and a long slim table rests right against one wall – a small cash machine, a leger, and several bowls of ground up pastes taking up the space on top.

The man at the counter looks up at Sam, his lank, greasy hair lying flat against his head and round sunglasses covering up his eyes, and smiles at him.

“You want some bone powder?” the man hisses conspiratorially.

“Bone… what? No, why would I?” Sam frowns.

“Male potency,” the greasy man leers. “Gives you a little umph!” he pumps his fist aggressively. “I take it myself!”

“I’m sure you do,” Sam drawls, incredulous at the level of dumbassery necessary for someone to actually believe in magical kaiju properties. “No, I’m, uh, I’m looking for Crowley?” Sam holds up the orange card, “I was… _told_ he would be here?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes narrow dangerously and his smile drops. Nodding quickly to the two men guarding the entranceway – _when did they get there?_ – the front door is shut and barred. One of the thugs takes the sign from the window and flips it, presumably labeling it as closed for business. Sam looks back nervously to the shopkeeper and watches the man reach smoothly under the desk to hit a hidden switch, triggering a triple set of doors to slide open silently behind the desk. Sam swallows and watches the doors – lined with jars of kaiju samples suspended in various liquids – glide open ominously.

“Good luck,” the shopkeeper chuckles.

The third and final door slides open to reveal a massive hexagonal chamber, lined with marble floors and shelves upon shelves of pristine kaiju tissues and samples: lymph nodes the size of beach balls, tiny glands and delicate nerve bundles, thin slices of organs, slivers of skin and carapace, and a multitude of jars filled with unidentifiable liquids.

Sam is in _heaven_.

“Oh my god!” Sam blusters, momentarily forgetting where he is in favour of admiring the quality of the kaiju paraphilia. “Lymph nodes from a category two! A gall bladder, in mint condition! Is this a talon? Totally intact!?”

Sam startles at the screeching coming from behind him, “kaiju skin parasites,” he breathes. “I’ve never seen them alive. They’re always dead by the time I get to a site. I thought – “

“Not if you bathe them in ammonia,” a small, well-dressed man drawls.

Sam looks over at the speaker, obviously not one of the hired muscle, and squints suspiciously. Not a tall man by any means, British accent, all whiskey and broken glass and sleazy nightclubs, but that’s not what catches Sam’s attention. The stranger swaggers forward in a black silk three-piece suit, with a dark red tie hanging around his throat like a splash of blood. His shoe uppers jingle softly from the gold plated, overlapping scales – giving him a distinctly menacing gait. Between the solid gold cufflinks, shoes, the flawlessly tailored suit, and jewellery, Sam muses that the entire ensemble would’ve been able to put him through an entire year at Jaeger Academy.

Noticing Sam’s scrutiny, the stranger glides forward and grins wolfishly, “So what do you want moose?”

“Oh, uh, I’m looking for Crowley,” Sam tenses. “I was told he’s here.”

“Who wants to know?”

The scientist narrows his eyes, “well, I can’t really say.”

Sam hears the telltale sound of a blade flipping out and rasping against metal and – too fast to follow – the cold steel bite of the stranger’s butterfly knife is tickling the inside of his nose.

“Marshall Turner sent me!” he cries out.

The guy studies Sam’s face contemplatively for a moment, before stepping back and deftly flipping the butterfly knife down and stowing it away.

Sam curses his stupidity, _figures._ He growls, checking his nose for blood. _I was so distracted by all the kaiju parts that I didn’t focus on any of the humans. Fucking typical_.

“So… _you’re_ Crowley?”

“Like the name? I took it from my favourite fictional character – as a _Good Omen_ I should say,” Crowley smirks proudly. “And from the ever charismatic fellow who created the _Thelema_ philosophy.”

“Your favourite historical figure is Aleister Crowley?” Sam raises his eyebrows sceptically. “A guy who was notoriously mythological and totally rejected all conventional religious and moral standings at the time? The very same guy who was a bisexual libertine opportunist?”

Crowley grins, clearly delighted, “The very same.” He waves his hand dismissively to his guards, “So, you want me to know you’re smart. I get it. Now tell me what you want before I gut you like a pig and feed you to that skin louse over there.”

“We’ve, um, done some business before,” Sam clears his throat awkwardly. “I work on the K-Science team for the PPDC, just under Marshall Turner. I’m sure I’ve made some purchases from you?”

“Moose, if you’ve bought anything from anywhere between Manila and Sapporo, then yes, you’ve dealt with me,” Crowley picks at his nails distractedly. “So Turner sent you? What does he want now?”

Sam bristles, “that’s classified.”

Crowley calmly reaches into his coat for his butterfly knife.

“Can we maybe go somewhere more… private?”

Crowley gestures at him to follow along, before leading them through a discreet door to his office, and from there: to the balcony overlooking the massive courtyard housing the kaiju skull temple.

“The kaiju made land here nearly ten bloody years ago and we’re still mining and harvesting the bones,” Crowley’s lips pull back in a grisly facsimile of a smile. “I’d say I got the best deal from Turner on that front.”

“Well at least the city’s infrastructure is benefiting,” Sam says noncommittally. “Some of those morons actually believe that the kaiju are displeased gods or whatever… what do you think?”

Crowley chuckles darkly, “I believe kaiju bone powder is five hundred dollars per pound. Why are you here? You’re not after any powder to keep your girlfriend happy. A man like you doesn’t have a girlfriend because you’re married to your work.”

“Boyfriend actually,” Sam grins, “and I need access to a kaiju brain.”

“No can do moose,” says Crowley, shaking his head. “The skull is plated so dense that by the time you drill through it- “

“Yeah, it’s rotted away, I know,” Sam waves his hand dismissively. “But I was talking about the secondary brain. You and I both know that the kaiju are _so_ large that they need a secondary brain to move and function. Like a dinosaur!”

“Christ you’re such a nerd,” Crowley smirks. “You really paid attention in anatomy class didn’t you? I can get that brain for you.”

“Really? That’s great!”

“If I can have legal claim on every fallen kaiju in the Southern Hemisphere.”

Sam freezes, unsure of just how far his scientific diplomacy goes in the situation, and then decides to throw caution to the wind. Last days of war, right?

“Considering the world is about to end, I’d say we’ve got a deal.”

Crowley shakes his hand enthusiastically, his eyes gleaming with prospect.

“Could you throw in a kaiju tooth in the deal?” Sam asks curiously.

“Not a single one moose,” Crowley grins. ”You’ve already shaken to our terms.”

“Damn. You drive a hard bargain,” Sam chuckles.

Crowley frowns, “What do you even want a kaiju brain for anyway? Let alone a secondary one. Every other part of the kaiju sells. The cartilage, liver, the spleen – even a cubic meter of the crap has enough phosphorous to fertilize a whole field! But the brain,” he waves his hand, frustrated, “too much ammonia! You can’t consume it, can’t process it, and it decays so fast that even my guys haven’t been able to figure out anything useful about it before it turns into porridge.”

Sam fidgets under Crowley’s piercing gaze, before blurting out, “that’s classified.”

The dealer’s eyebrows raise sceptically, clearly not believing a single word coming out of Sam’s mouth, “I’m fairly sure I could… _convince you_ to tell me.”

Sam swallows nervously, “alright, alright. So I’ve worked out the parameters necessary to drift with a kaiju,” he leans in conspiratorially. “I’ve only been able to manage a few minutes of it so far and it definitely wasn’t perfect. The main issue was my brain sample, which was old and extensively damaged. Not to mention not even whole. I need fresh brain tissue to go deeper, so I can truly understand the inner workings of the Breach and I just- “

Crowley’s face remains slack and incredulous, “you actually did it?”

“I know, I know,” Sam says, puffing himself up. “Everyone said it was impossible but I did it. Full neural handshake with a kaiju. Awesome, right?”

“ _You absolute bloody **fool**_.”

All over Hong Kong, alarms blare piercingly through the night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter! Thanksgiving weekend at my parents' place ended up as this crazy big family reunion mixed with my grandparent's 70th wedding anniversary so literally every single member of my family was here from all over the country. This chapter is jam packed with action and is hella depressing with some major deaths so ye have been warned!

Rationally, Dean knows he should eat. He’s a fancy schmancy pilot with responsibilities and a gruelling workout schedule that he needs in order to stay at the top of his game. Irrationally, he knows that the second he walks in to the canteen, everyone will be judging him for his performance this morning with Cas. Eventually, his hunger wins out over his pride and he’s pulling on some sweatpants and making his way down to the cafeteria. But mostly he’s still pleasantly surprised at the kind of food that’s available in the Hong Kong port, after so long in the Jaeger Academy with lean meals and other poorly rationed fare.

The minute Dean walks through the canteen doors he knows his status has changed. Before the disastrous test, he’d been the unknown and unpredictable variable. He’d had a string of well-known kaiju kills under his belt and a badass reputation from his solo fight. That kind of battle history goes a long way with other Jaeger crews and the general populace.

But what little standing he’d had upon his arrival, he’d lost in the face of his failure. The kindness of battle-hardened warriors and tech crews only goes so far when it becomes clear that their investment isn’t going to pay out. Dean hears the mocking tones and disappointed insults of his father loudly ringing in his head as he moves into a spot in the lunch line. Nobody greets him. The kitchen staff put food on his plate silently. He walks between rows upon rows of tables filled with people who turn their back on him, ignore him completely, or glare at him – daring him to sit at their table. Even his own tech crew are studiously avoiding him.

 _So this is how it’s gonna be_ , Dean sets his jaw determinedly. _I can work with this. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. If I can deal with kaiju then I can deal with some pissbaby crewmembers._

Dean looks up from his, now unappetizing, tray of food and spots Cas walking into the canteen. The entire room goes dead silent as the young man walks up to grab a tray and blend into the line. Cas grabs a juice box near the end of the line and spots Dean waiting for him.

“Hello Dean.”

Dean smiles beatifically, “never thought I’d be so glad to hear my name Cas. You wanna get out of here?”

Cas relaxes minutely, his eyes lighting up, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Dean nods toward the secondary exit and hefts his tray higher. Technically they’re not allowed to bring trays anywhere outside the mess hall but they walk out with their heads held high without ever looking back. The pilots head towards _Angel Blade’s_ hangar to sit on the ledge overlooking the pit crew, technicians still carrying on with their business as if the men above them hadn’t nearly blown everything to pieces only a few hours before.

 _Even if Turner hasn’t grounded me_ , muses Dean, _none of the other candidates even come close to being as good as Cas._

“I… am ashamed of my performance today,” Cas admits quietly, like the words burn him on the way out.

“So am I,” agrees Dean. “Balthazar is trying to figure out what went wrong, but nothing did. You easily had one of the strongest pilot-machine handshakes I’ve ever seen. Hell, I’m _still_ feeling the drift hangover, it was that powerful.”

Dean nudges Cas gently with his elbow, careful to not dislodge his friend’s juice box. He thinks about the smell of the dusty city, the screeching sound of the kaiju’s pincers tearing apart the buildings, and the constant thrum of terror singeing the air.

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you did badly, because they’re lyin’ bastards,” Dean scoops up the last bite of his potato salad into his mouth. “You’ve worked on _Angel Blade’s_ restoration long enough that she’s a part of you now. She’s in tune with you in ways that she’ll never be with any other pilot.”

 _And the poor guy still looks a little shell shocked_ , Dean thinks. The engineer still looks emptied out and shocked by the depth of loss felt by Dean’s mind at the loss of his co-pilot. Whether or not Sam was killed or simply unconscious, it’s still a massive shock to anyone’s system to lose a neural connection with their drift partner.

Cas shakes himself off, “I did not anticipate the level of intensity. I lost control.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that or you’ll never be able to learn and move past it. Don’t be defined by a failure, because it excludes the possibility of change or growth.”

Cas smiles softly, “thank you. Where did you learn that?”

Dean looks over at Cas and grins, “that old bastard Bobby Singer.”

Cas snorts into his macaroni salad and shrugs, “that doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

“Did you feel anything from my mind?” Dean asks curiously. “I know we both got so caught up in your memories that we focused mostly on that but, I don’t know, did you see anything?”

Cas stills, pushing his fork slowly through the food in his cup, “I felt your fear and helplessness when Sam… dropped off. I felt his pain, and the burns on your torso. I felt it all and I know.” Cas places his hand gently on Dean’s wrist, “but now it is time for you to forgive yourself. You can’t change the past, but you can choose your future.”

“Thanks Cas,” Dean fights against the sudden burning in his throat, nearly constricting his words as he supresses his tears. “We’d lived in each other’s minds for so long that I forgotten what it was like to deal with the silence. The absence of anyone else.  To let someone in – to _really_ connect – you have to trust’em. And today…” Dean looks into Cas’ eyes, “today the drift was strong.”

“It _was_ strong,” Cas nods, some of the unhappiness bleeding out of his posture.

They silently watch as a massive crane removes the front plating from _Angel Blade’s_ chest, opening up the cavernous compartment of the Jaeger to show the glowing flare of the reactor piece.

“Have you seen her heart?”

“Not for a very long time,” Dean sighs.

The nuclear vortex turbine lifts away from the heavily plated reactor housing, the reactor itself the crowning achievement of a past nuclear scientist experimenting ways to miniaturize nuclear tech. The PPDC had snatched him up as soon as they’d gotten wind of his research, resulting in the first three generations of Jaegers being powered by nuclear energy. Radiation poisoning and proper shielding had been the last thing on anyone’s mind.

Dean’s eyes skim over _Angel Blade’s_ new shielding, the three strategic places providing the protection that Sam would’ve benefitted greatly from during their last stint of active service: the inside of the reactor compartment, the outside of the reactor housing itself, and the internal cylinder of the massive vortex turbine.

“I am sorry I called you dangerous.”

“Unpredictable,” Dean corrects, grinning smugly. “But I prefer dangerous, makes me sound more badass than I really am.”

Castiel laughs softly, “I suppose that is one way of looking at it.”

“We gave them an excuse to dismiss us,” Dean says, his voice hardening. “But we won’t do it again.”

“If we even get another chance,” says Castiel. “A lot of people here think I have only gotten to where I am due to Commander Harvelle’s influence.”

“We will. I can _feel_ it.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Balthazar swears as yet another massive coiled cable shocks his already burned fingers, cursing the bugs within the LOCCENT’s computer systems. Putting command console terminals back together after a faulty drift really isn’t all that fun.

There were a lot of redundancies within the systems after the failed Winchester-Novak drift and some of the banks hadn’t been able to handle the rogue routines created by the run. Others had suffered some external damage from when he’d had to yank the cables out of their connecter ports, desperation and terror fuelling his drive to not let the entire Hong Kong Shatterdome be vaporized from the inside out.

Balthazar had pulled all the extra bodies he could find into helping him restore the LOCCENT’s most crucial settings, but it’s slow going. With the extra help he’d managed to get the main console up and running again, and barely a minute after the first diagnostics have been run, the Breach alarm sounds off with a startling wail, echoing ominously throughout the Shatterdome.

“There _has_ to be a mistake,” Balthazar says, staring at the radars uncomprehendingly. “What did we do wrong? _Samandriel!_ Get your scrawny arse over here and tell me where you fucked up!”

Samandriel scrambles up off the floor from under one of the massive coils of protective cable casing, nearly dislodging a whole stack of preliminary reports as he does so.

“But, I checked! And _double_ checked everything sir!”

Balthazar swears as he swipes a hand over the broad-spectrum visual, the Breach illuminating itself onscreen with brilliant shades of red and gold, only seen because of the intense multi-spectrum radiation bleeding out of it during a kaiju transitioning between dimensions. The inter-spatial energy resulting in extreme heat caused by the super dense and searing hot plasma discharged from… wherever it is they come from. Thereby lighting up the LOCCENT displays with a storm of light and a riot of colour even through the deadly pressures at the bottom of the sea.

The technician slowly turns on the digital readings, wanting to make sure the data and visuals are correlating properly, and feels like his entire body had been doused in ice water.

 _Bugger,_ he thought, _Novak was right!_

Switching on the COMM link, Balthazar pings through to the private link to Marshall Turner, frantically printing out sheaf after sheaf of vibration readings from the computer.

“You’d better have some goddamn data you useless little- “

“Movement in the Breach sir,” Balthazar says, wheezing a little hysterically. “Earlier than we’d originally calculated.”

“How strong is the signature?”

“ _Signatures,_ sir. I’m getting _two_ readings. And they’re headed right for Hong Kong.”

“Sound the alarm.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

At the blaring of the warning sirens, Crowley took off sprinting through the maze of hallways and rooms that led from his private balcony back down to the street level. Sam follows unsteadily, ducking here and there to avoid craning himself on the multitude of low hanging store signs lining the walkway.

 _A kaiju attack on Hong Kong_ , Sam thinks, distantly aware of his own body. It would be all right. All the Jaegers are ready for deployment at a moment’s notice, with the exception of _Angel Blade_ , but the other four would be more than enough to handle a single kaiju.

But when they exited a narrow staircase, one of Crowley’s underlings skittered up to his boss and managed to cry out, “Boss! There are two goddamn kaiju heading for the city!”

_Two?_

Sam had two simultaneous and wildly inappropriate reactions to this particular tidbit of information. One was a simple: _oh SHIT_! And the other is a little more complex, being divided almost equally between scientific curiosities about what kind of kaiju they are – category, weight class, animal structure – with a healthy mix of irritation. Because two kaiju mean that Gabriel was right; and he’d be lucky if Gabriel ever let him live it down.

“But this is totally against the pattern!” Sam growls, frustrated. “There’s never been _two_ kaiju!”

Crowley rounds on him so suddenly and so ferociously that Sam actually takes several steps backwards in genuine fear for his life.

“Maybe, Moose, just _maybe_ , that is because nobody’s ever _drifted with a fucking kaiju before!_ The drift is a bridge, yes? Sets up a connection both goddamn ways, and you said it yourself that they have a hive mentality… these two delightful specimens are _coming for you!_ ” Crowley roars.

Sam flinches back against the dingy wall of the building, momentarily stunned into inaction. The idea that these two monstrosities are looking for _him_ is absolutely terrifying. Kaiju are awesome, but still…

_What will they do if they find me?_

“Well,” Crowley pauses, taking a deep breath. “I will be waiting out this shitstorm in my own private anti-kaiju bunker. No more third class public bunkers for me after what happened last time.”

The merchant snaps his fingers nonchalantly, and all of his goons spring to life, pulling guns out and pointing them all at Sam.

“You will be going out there, into the public shelter like every other plebeian out there. That is, _if_ you can fit into one. Being around you isn’t a risk worth taking, but I’ll make you a deal. If you come out of this alive, come and find me and I’ll get you that secondary brain you want so badly. Now get the hell out.” And without further ado, Crowley shoves Sam out of his terrified stupor, and out into the crowded hordes of panicking citizens.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The LOCCENT is barely controlled chaos, with command systems not fully restored from the morning test run all while trying to compensate for the unfamiliar data provided by the two new signatures rising from the Breach. Hooking another coil into place, Balthazar stands up and wipes his forehead, praying for mechanical cooperation.

Marshall Turner walks into the room with Marshall Singer and Commander Harvelle in tow. Lucifer and Michael stand unmoving in the center of the room, silent and grim. Viktor and Benny stand beside the rookies Kevin and Adam, with Jo trailing in to stand beside her mother at the main control panel. Gabriel rushes in, right on the heels of Dean and Castiel.

“Marshall,” Balthazar reports, his voice tight with anxiety. “Breach was exposed at twenty-three hundred hours. We have two confirmed signatures rising.”

“Oh my god I was _right_ \- “

“Gabriel!” Cas hisses reproachfully.

“What size are they?” demands Turner.

Balthazar hesitates momentarily, “Both are category IV.” He then throws up a rough visual of the invaders onto the main screen, the light from their outlines dancing on the faces of every person in the room. One outline is blocky and roughly textured, with the greatest mass in the front half, suggesting immense upper body strength. The other is all angles and sharp claws, with a long barbed tail. “Codenames: _Leatherback_ and _Otachi_. They will reach Hong Kong within the hour.”

“Evacuate the city. Clear the cargo docks, and close all the bridges,” Turner orders. “I want every citizen in a bunker right now. Ships in the harbour?”

“The coast guard is working on evacuating all vessels and crews as we speak sir.”

“We need to be out there sir,” Michael interjects. “At least some of the Jaegers.”

“Just not with _them_ ,” Lucifer says, pointing over his shoulder towards Dean and Cas.

“Shut it Lucifer!” Gabriel snaps. “Sir, you have to hold them off some other way. My predictions are correct, we may lose a city, but we need the Jaegers to complete the final mission. We _need_ to hold our ground.”

“Hey,” Harvelle snarls. “It’s a city of _ten million people_ against numbers on your precious chalkboard.”

“I’m just being realistic!” Gabriel snarls back. “You can’t hope to save everybody _and_ still have enough firepower left to deliver the final payload!”

“You can’t save everyone sir,” Dean says flatly.

Balthazar hesitated, his hand resting on the loudspeaker button, “Sir? Do you want to deploy?”

Several long moments run by, Marshall Turner glaring a hole into the floor. Suddenly, he turns to face the waiting Jaeger teams.

“ _Archangel_ , _Vampirate,_ frontline the harbour. Stay on the Miracle Mile.”

To Ellen and Jo, “ _Roadhouse_ , stay in the back and guard the coastline. We _cannot_ lose you, so only engage as a final option,” turning to Kevin and Adam, “You boys will stay in the hangar, and will be on standby to deploy at a moment’s notice.”

“Winchester, Novak,” Turner says. “You will remain here.”

Dean grimaces at the room when he feels, more than sees, Cas droop dejectedly beside him.

“Yes sir,” Ellen salutes, and she and Jo exit the room.

“We’ll be ready in a jiffy sir,” Benny drawls, his eyes glittering menacingly in the harsh light of the LOCCENT screens. He claps companionably Dean on the shoulder on his way out, never saying a word.

“Right,” Balthazar shakes himself off. “You lot get to your Jaegers, and the rest of you morons better get to your stations _now_.”

Dean can feel the acidic burn of humiliation scorching through his body, and he can feel the resentment and frustration radiating out from Cas’ mind. The _Archangel_ and the _Vampirate_ register onscreen as waiting on the deployment pad at the end of the runway. They move over to the LOCCENT windows in order to watch the proceedings, with each of the massive Jaegers hanging from a pair of Jumphawk helicopters. The _Roadhouse_ is stationed immediately behind them, after riding the conveyer belt from her repair bay under the watchful eyes of her pit crew.

“Neural handshake confirmed for all teams,” Balthazar reports, his hands flying gracefully over the controls. “Setting communication links for all teams. Open channels onscreen.”

Several screens show the direct audio and visual feeds into the three departing Jaegers, with the fourth screen showing the interior of the Shatterdome with the _Bloody Ghoul_.

“LOCCENT,” Harvelle’s voice echoes harshly. “Near positions and awaiting orders.”

“Hold tight _Roadhouse_ ,” Turner orders. “ _Archangel_ and _Vampirate_ are en route. Alright, let’s get this done. We’ve got ourselves some alien scum to blow up.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sam ran.

If you asked him how he even made it into one of the main squares he wouldn’t be able to tell you how he did it, not with all the terror roiling like a radioactive chemical experiment in his brain. The sheer knowledge that the kaiju – no, the _precursors_ – are looking for him is enough to make his stomach turn.

But something was itching at the back of his mind, like the persistent tickle when you can’t immediately recall something. And then the answer is staring him in the face.

The kaiju have never hit the same city twice.

 _For shock value and greater destructive impact_ , Sam muses grimly. _But that means a few things are falling into place._

Firstly, this level of premeditation shows that the kaiju know what they are doing. If they are hitting Hong Kong again, it’s not random. Not after Sam drifted with a kaiju brain barely twenty-four hours previously. It’s a mission to kill or kidnap Sam now that he’s a liability. They now knew he was aware of the waiting and the planning the precursors had done during the trial run with the dinosaurs. They know he’s uncovered the genetic code sequence for the kaiju, along with their memory banks.

Sam’s frantic mind dances between questions, but the most prominent one is this: _how the hell did they know when to come back?_ How had the kaiju known exactly when earth’s atmosphere would be able to sustain the massive bulk of their bodies? Had the precursors already taken over other worlds this way? By waiting for the opportune moment and devouring all the resources?

The more Sam thinks about this, the more frightened he gets. Navigating the chaos of Kowloon’s streets gets increasingly difficult on the edge of the exclusion zone, with the terrified hordes making order nearly impossible. Sam gives himself up to the crowd, hoping beyond hope that they’ll be heading towards the closest bunker. Sam goes with the flow, listening to the rapid-fire public service messages blaring in Chinese over the loudspeakers along the street.

 _Blend in and you’ll be safe_ , Sam’s mind whispers. _Yeah, because a six foot five White guy trying to blend in will totally work._

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Marshall Turner and Balthazar stand front and center on the command deck, their eyes roving over countless displays and console monitors. Behind them, Samandriel quietly supervises the work of the command crew. The screen closest to the communications console blinks solemnly, with the _Roadhouse_ stationed close to the Shatterdome while the _Archangel_ and the _Vampirate_ move steadily towards the edge of the Miracle Mile.

“Reaching target zone,” Viktor says. “Disengaging transport.”

The Jaegers drop from the helicopters, which leap upwards as their payloads are decreased. A mere second apart, the _Archangel_ and the _Vampirate_ splash mightily into the water, briefly disappearing under the waves and turning their floodlights on.

“ _Vampirate_ holding the coastline,” Benny reports. “Beacon is on.”

“ _Archangel_ holding steady,” says Michael.

The entire LOCCENT holds perfectly still in anticipation, anxiously watching the monitors tracking the kaiju’s approach. Balthazar toggles the screen to zoom in.

“They’re right there,” he says, noting the complete lack of anything identifying on the live feeds from the Jaeger cockpits. “ _Archangel_ , _Vampirate_ , we are reading both kaiju signals in your immediate area. Do you have visual?”

“ _Archangel_ here,” Lucifer says, his voice tight with stress. “No visual. Our signal shows the same as yours.”

“Sir? Evacuation in the city progressing as requested,” Samandriel reports.

Marshall Turner nods tersely, his gaze steady on the twin bogeys representing the kaiju.

_Come out and fight you son of a-_

_Otachi_ breaches the surface in an explosion of water.

“Jesus Christ,” Balthazar breathes.

The mountainous mass of kaiju barrels right for the waiting Jaegers, its angular body slicing easily through the enormous waves. _Otachi_ charges the _Archangel_ , its armoured head low to the water and its barbed tail raised high like a scorpion ready to strike.

The Jaeger staggers backwards as the kaiju slams into it, the belt of blades glittering maliciously in the blue glow of the water. The _Archangel_ rolls with the second hit, drawing one of the gleaming knives from the left compartment and dodging a third hit in time to deliver a clean slice to _Otachi’s_ chest. The kaiju’s tail whirls around to deliver a deadly hit to the _Archangel’s_ torso, before moving up to pierce a hole in the Conn-Pod.

The live feed streaming through to the LOCCENT shows the massive tail claw puncturing through to the pilot compartment.  Lucifer and Michael draw another blade from the belt and drive both blades into the lean shoulder muscles, driving the kaiju back for a brief respite.

 _Otachi_ screams angrily before charging again.

The _Archangel_ quickly sheathes the individual blades before shifting into the triple-saw hand gears, one from each wrist joint, carbide-tipped and powered to spin at six thousand revolutions per minute. Lucifer and Michael attack _Otachi_ with all the fluid grace of a dancer, a barrage of deadly strikes delivered so acrobatically as to be a work of art. The saws gouge away massive chunks of flesh between the blows delivered from the kaiju, but _Otachi_ isn’t slowing down.

The Jaeger begins to slow; her attacks minutely getting sluggish, her hull taking on more puncture wounds as the kaiju’s armoured tail pierces through whenever the blade cannot protect it.  Michael, stationed on the right hemisphere, tries to retract his saw blades in order to start charging the plasma canon, only to discover that one of his charging relays has been damaged beyond use.

“Double hook brother!” Benny snarls.

The _Vampirate’s_ massive bulk slams into _Otachi_ from the side, using its momentum to knock the kaiju away from the damaged Jaeger. The _Vampirate_ uses the space between the attacks to start up the Spark Fist, powered by the two massive energy turbines on each shoulder. The energy crackles along the knuckles of each gauntlet, and _Otachi_ reacts faster than anticipated, blocking the strike with such ferocity that the _Vampirate_ staggers backwards.

Behind the fight, the _Archangel_ limps away to take stock of its injuries. The right arm and fist hang limp at the side, the teeth on the saws bent or broken off. Plasma energy trickles weakly from the punctures on the torso, the plasma canons too weak and the relays too damaged to fully build up a charge. The skull frame and chest plating are partially torn open, leaving the pilots and the circuitry exposed to the raging storm outside, the seawater beginning to short out the motor arrays.

“ _Archangel_ is no longer combat-operational,” says Balthazar, reading the same damning results of the Jaeger’s decaying systems.

 _Otachi_ struck the _Vampirate_ full in the chest with all of its weight, knocking it back into the water like an overturned turtle, before changing course towards the immobile _Archangel_.

In the LOCCENT, everyone watches as Michael and Lucifer stand proud and firm, bowing to nothing and no one as the kaiju charges them down, one last time. _Otachi_ seizes the _Archangel’s_ head in its forelimbs, hooking one of its leg claws into the torso to hold itself steady.  With a final grind of screaming metal and the flare of ruptured energy circuits, _Otachi_ tears the _Archangel’s_ head off and crushes it in the powerful grip of its tail. It then heaves the scrap metal, and throws it an immense distance away into the ocean, leaving the body of the Jaeger to topple unceremoniously down into the churning waves.

The entire LOCCENT crew watches, horrified, as the video link flickers sporadically between the wreckage, the water, and the crushed and mutilated bodies of the pilots, before finally going black and disappearing forever.

“The _Archangel_ is down,” says Balthazar, his voice blank with shock.

Without further ado, _Otachi_ turns and heads back to face the _Vampirate_.

“LOCCENT!” Commander Harvelle’s voice booms through the room, startling the nearby techs. “ _Archangel_ and _Vampirate_ are in trouble. We’re moving in.”

“The _Archangel_ is lost. You are to hold your ground,” Turner answers. “Do _not_ engage. Hold your position!”

Jo swears colourfully, heedless of the live feed directly to the LOCCENT, and holds her position to watch the _Vampirate_ grapple with the deadly _Otachi_.

Suddenly, _Leatherback_ rises from the water to leap onto the back of the _Vampirate_. The earlier sensor readings bearing true as the _Roadhouse_ catalogues the hulking, heavily armoured forearm carapaces, the elbow joints tapering out into deadly points like massive twin shields. Along the creature’s spine dances a streak of fizzling electric blue energy, the currents extending down the bony ridge from the base of its skull to the tailbone.

“Oh my god,” Turner breathes in disbelief.

The _Vampirate_ discharges the incinerator turbines directly into _Otachi’s_ face, sloughing off great chunks of seared flesh and driving it back several paces, but only for a moment before _Leatherback_ is moving in.

“Recovery team! Can you reach the site of the _Archangel’s_ impact?” Turner barks, continuing once the Jumphawk pilots call back affirmative. “There is a chance that the pilots are still alive in the water. Look for them but stay clear from the fight. Sweep for any survivors.”

The Jumphawks peel away from the formation returning from deployment and head back towards the action, swinging in a wide arc to avoid the current engagement. The _Vampirate’s_ incinerator turbines have gone dark, _Leatherback_ having crushed them on their initial impact. The shattered fans and overloaded systems spark close to the fuel compartments dangerously close enough to detonate the reserves of fuel along the shoulders.

 _Leatherback_ heaves itself up, leaping onto the broad shoulders of the _Vampirate_ in order to dig through the cylindrical outer housing of the fuel reservoirs. The combined weight of the kaiju drags the Jaeger down under the water, Viktor and Benny spitting vicious curses and swearing at the beasts above them.

“Screw this LOCCENT!” Jo screams. “We’re moving in!”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh my god I am SO SORRY for the time between this chapter and the last! I've been crazy busy with my new job and it's great but I've had most of this in my drafts folder for a while... so, without further ado, enjoy some jaegers kicking kaiju butt! :D

The _Roadhouse_ is in a class of its own in a fight, no matter what Dean thinks of Commander Harvelle’s methods.

The Jaeger is a beauty, cutting through the choppy waves faster than _Black Betty_ ever could, hitting harder than the mighty _Vampirate_ , and makes moves that even the _Archangel_ wouldn’t have even dreamed of attempting. _Roadhouse_ takes on _Otachi_ just before it can deliver a killing blow to the _Vampirate_ , hitting the beast with a barrage of punches that make the kaiju buckle and forcing it away from the distressed Jaeger struggling to resurface. The immensely powerful blows to _Otachi’s_ head barely give it time to breathe, before it can recover from one attack _Roadhouse_ is already delivering the next hit.

The _Roadhouse_ delivers more than any normal kaiju would have been able to take, easily outstripping all previous models of Jaeger in history, but _Otachi_ just gathers itself and comes right back at the _Roadhouse_ with a vengeful ferocity. Close enough to the Shatterdome to use the floodlights to see the participants, but far enough away to be out of danger, leaving the crew in the LOCCENT to watch tensely as the battle unfolds.

The _Roadhouse_ staggers under a vicious counterattack and draws out its thermal blades to defend the head cockpit – having learned from watching the _Archangel_ go down fighting – and the kaiju’s blood sizzles against the thick chest armour of the Jaeger.

Inside the _Vampirate’s_ Conn-Pod, Benny and Viktor struggle to keep themselves alive, with most of the Jaeger’s life support systems offline or malfunctioning and water flooding in. _Leatherback_ finishes what _Otachi_ had started, tearing away large chunks of the chest plating to get to the pilot compartment located in the torso cavity. The conduits to the _Vampirate’s_ arms disengage, leaving them totally helpless in the onslaught of _Leatherback’s_ fury. The kaiju presses a massive clawed limb down onto the punctured cockpit, and the LOCCENT listens to the last few seconds of terrified screams coming from the Jaeger before the feed goes dark.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Looking out from the Shatterdome’s massive windows, Dean watches the _Vampirate_ disappear under the waves, taking two of his oldest friends to a watery grave. Cas says nothing, and simply places a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. The sky suddenly lights up with a fiery explosion of gold, the _Vampirate’s_ incendiary fuel reserves having exploded under the immense pressure of _Leatherback’s_ assault. The kaiju screams out in victory, its cries ringing across the water.

“ _Vampirate_ is down,” says Balthazar, his voice flat with horror. “ _Roadhouse_ : repeat: _Vampirate_ is down. _Leatherback_ has sounded off.”

“… Got it,” is all Jo says, her mother remaining silent beside her.

The _Roadhouse_ seems to gain a burst of strength from seeing their comrades in arms fall, and the Jaeger stuns _Otachi_ with a double fisted blow to the head before hoisting the beast overhead to fling it away, gaining precious time.

“Engaging missiles,” reports Ellen, opening the missile bay on the _Roadhouse’s_ chest and exposing the unassuming noses of the K-Stunner ramjet missiles.

Dean and Cas watch the corner of the live feed where the virtual launcher hologram lights up, signalling the charging of ammunitions.

“Ready to deploy,” Jo snarls. “Go to _hell_ you kaiju scum!”

 _Leatherback_ surges to the surface, barely two hundred yards from the _Roadhouse_ , emerging at the Jaeger’s exposed back.

“Watch it _Roadhouse_!” Balthazar yells frantically. “ _Leatherback_ on your flank, eight o’clock!”

“Shit! - “

The rest of the expletive is drowned out by the atmosphere rending crackle of the electrical shockwave bursting out from the blue spinal column of _Leatherback’s_ exposed bio-weapon. The waves in the immediate vicinity of the kaiju ripple out violently in the wake of the released force, the energy of its passage slicing a neat trench through the water directly towards the _Roadhouse’s_ exposed back and surrounding it with sizzling tendrils of electricity.

The _Roadhouse_ goes dark and its missiles retract.

“What the fuck was _that_?” screams Jo, frantically flipping various controls in the cockpit.

“LOCCENT! Report!” barks Ellen. “We’re dead in the water out here!”

The LOCCENT had gone dark as well with the attack, only the radio connection holding them connected to the _Roadhouse’s_ Conn-Pod. Emergency power kicks in and the LOCCENT comes back to life just in time to see the _Roadhouse’s_ live feed show _Otachi_ swimming leisurely towards the shoreline and directly to the downtown area.

“It’s some kind of EMP,” cries Balthazar, frantically switching on different power ports. “It jumbled the Jaeger’s electrical circuits!”

“Oh my god,” Gabriel breathes, his presence nearly forgotten in the horrific events of the past hour. “This isn’t a defense mechanism… this is a _weapon_!”

“The _Roadhouse_?” Turner asks, completely without inflection.

“Nothing sir,” Balthazar reports dejectedly. “The Mark V’s are all digital. Everything is completely fried. In fact, _all_ the Jaegers are digital!” The man looked on the verge of a hysterical meltdown. “Two Jaegers down, one dead in the water from EMP, and still two kaiju running around just offshore!”

“Not all of’em,” Dean says, his voice cutting through the tension clear as a bell.

Everyone turns to look at them. Dean, standing tall and defiant, and Cas, standing ramrod straight with his eyes promising retribution. Dean could see he and Cas registering within people’s minds once more, not the deadbeat washout and the immature rookie, but the last hope of everyone surviving.

For better or worse, they are the last Rangers.

“ _Angel Blade_ is analog,” Cas says. “Nuclear.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sam watches as the enormous form of the kaiju heaves itself over the line of buildings and docks closest to the water. It hauls itself onto dry land and braces it’s clawed forearms against a high-rise parking lot, sniffing the air like a horrific dog. A quadruped, with the obvious capability to stand on its hind legs if need be. The blunt arrow-shaped head has two hooked protrusions just above the nose to curve back over the eye sockets. _Those will be protecting the eyes_ , Sam thinks hysterically, _and it’ll make it that much harder to land a decent hit on its face_. Its front legs are noticeably longer than the hind limbs, forcing it to walk with its elbows high up in the air and stuck out slightly at the sides like a grotesque vampire bat.

The tail – three pronged with serrates thorns running along its entire length – snaps and waves behind it. It sniffs the air and roars questioningly, like it thinks something will answer its call, and proceeds to rip up a chunk of pavement as it pushes its bony shoulders between two skyscrapers.

 _Looking for me_ , Sam thinks dazedly. _It’s looking for me_.

The panicking crowd sweeps Sam along towards the entrance to the underground shelters, making it difficult to slow down and really get a good look at the beast. A sharply pointed elbow joint appears over a building and makes Sam pause uneasily.

_Something moving just under the surface of the lake. The thing came before the precursor and had spread its wings._

Sam had seen this one born and had watched the precursors destroy the first model to make way for a more successful variation. He’d been present at the exact moment of creation of this particular nightmare, and now it’s coming for _him_.

 _The precursor looked at him and it knew him and as it knew him so did they all_.

Sam abruptly came back to himself; the kaiju had stopped to sniff the air again. It roared mightily, splayed its claws into one of the neighbouring buildings… and then it looked right at Sam. It knew him, and it had seen him.

“Okay buddy,” Sam consoles himself. “You can handle this.”

The anxious crowd sweeps him down and deep into the nearest shelter, flowing down a steep flight of stairs and down a massive corridor lined with steel-encased vaults capable of comfortably holding a hundred people each. Sam was crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder with a young mother holding an infant and her husband holding her, and to his other side, a pair of ragged children clutched each other desperately.

More and more people were shoved unceremoniously into the shelter. _If there was ever some sort of maximum capacity_ , Sam grouses, _nobody’s paying any attention to it. I certainly hope there’s proper air circulation down here… nothing like dying of suffocation right under an invading kaiju to take the wind out of your sails_.

The vault door booms shut, ominously shutting out all noise from the hallway.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Sam moans softy, growing more and more hysterical by the second. “Hah! This means Gabriel was right!” Sam tries not to be too insulted when the two children at his left start shushing him vehemently.

Giant footsteps loom closer, the booming sounds echoing strangely in the vaulted space over the refugees’ heads. Some prayed, some cried, some held rapid arguments under their breath, and babies start to cry in distress. The footsteps grow closer still. Mothers cover the mouths of their wailing children, hoping beyond all hope to stifle any sign of life to the kaiju above, praying that it isn’t _their_ child who alerts the beast to their presence.

Things grow quiet. The shelter hums with barely restrained tension. The ceiling of the refuge shivers violently from the weight of the kaiju, almost directly above. No one dares to so much as breathe loudly in the room.

So, naturally, this is when Sam has one of his radiation-induced coughing fits.

His wheezing and hacking echo vastness of the room, people drawing away from him in horror, no matter how hard he tries to stifle the sounds with his hands. Immediately, people start to shift away from Sam, wary of being so close to the one causing the most noise. A sharp crunching rings from above as a rivet pops out of an overhead beam to crash down to the floor. People rush backwards in their haste to move away, and the screams start.

At the same time, the kaiju tears the roof right off the shelter.

Debris collapses amongst the crowd, everyone pressing desperately close to the walls to avoid being seen, with Sam alone and hunched over coughing up blood and phlegm in the center. A Jumphawk helicopter screams by overhead, its search lights blinding Sam down in the shelter, illuminating the upper body of the kaiju as it rips through the concrete and iron like a hot knife through butter. It throws the chunk of ceiling away haphazardly, flattening the front of a row of small shops lining the shopping area.

Then it bends its head down into the hole, and inhales. A rumbling growl comes from its throat, sending vibrations running through the length of the floor and making it difficult for Sam to stand properly. The kaiju opens its mouth and a long, slimy, electric blue tongue comes snaking its way down into the shelter, dividing along the end into three separate prongs. Sensing him, smelling him, and tasting the air.

Sam breathes deeply, his eyes locked onto the beast above him, and inhales fresh air one last time.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The bay is a scene of terror and destruction, _Leatherback_ continues pounding the _Roadhouse_ to pieces as Ellen and Jo scramble inside the cockpit to keep above water. They’re just about reduced to fighting with their bare hands and the emergency flashlights, when Ellen contacts LOCCENT one more time.

“Emergency power is erratic!” she growls. “I’m only getting a few seconds at a time!”

It’s barely enough energy to keep them upright. Every so often the Jaeger manages to avoid or deflect one of the kaiju’s blows, but beyond that, they’re sitting ducks in the water. Sooner or later the beast will drive them down under the waves just like Benny and Viktor.

“Mom! We need to get out of here!” Jo yells.

“No we do _not_! I’ve nearly got things re-routed!” Ellen tries to disentangle herself from the jungle of cables that spreads across the cockpit’s floor, disengaging her boot clamps from the driver platform in the process. Several seconds after her boots hit the deck; _Leatherback_ slams into the prone Jaeger and throws Ellen across the cockpit and into a support beam, her collarbone crunching sickeningly on impact.

“Mom!” Jo cries, scrambling to unlock her own boots. “Hang on I’m coming!”

“Joanna Beth Harvelle you stay right where you are!” Ellen gasps, her voice tight with pain.

Jo grasps her under her mother’s armpit to haul her up from the floor, “Come on! If we’re the last defense standing between that thing and a city of ten million people then I plan on going down shooting this fucker in the face with everything we’ve got!”

Ellen barks out a sharp laugh while Jo jerks open the steel door opening the Conn-Pod to the outer core of the Jaeger’s hull, revealing a ladder leading to the top of the _Roadhouse’s_ head from an emergency hatch.

“Come on _granny_ ,” Jo smirks.

“Don’t you call me that _little girl_ ,” Ellen snarls, holstering several flare guns at her hip.

Jo props her mother up against the service latch before cranking the door’s hatch mechanism, the pressurized air screaming in their ears as it escaped the cockpit, and together they step out into the oncoming storm.

 _Leatherback_ stops circling the Jaeger in favour of investigating the two small forms clambering around on the head, curiosity written plainly on it’s ugly face.

“Hey! You dented my ride you shit-eating motherfu-!”

Jo fires off a flare directly into the kaiju’s right eye before Ellen can even finish her sentence, the beast squalling away in surprise and agony and backing away frantically. Ellen cocks her gun and fires off a second flare, exploding right in _Leatherback’s_ face, the kaiju’s frenetic movements creating enormous waves that rock the Jaeger to-and-fro like a child’s toy in a bath.

But _Leatherback_ shakes it’s massive head like a dog and advances on the Jaeger, undeterred in its ferocity.

“Well, we could always doggie paddle back to shore,” Jo laughs shakily, her gun spent and smoking at her side.

Ellen tilts her face up to the sky; rain pouring down her face and masking her angry tears.

Until the sound of several Jumphawks thrumming through the sky cuts through the air, cutting through the thunder and _Leatherback’s_ building rage, carrying the figure of a Jaeger silhouetted by the spotlights.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Ellen breathes. “Rufus is going all in for this one.”

The Jumphawks let _Angel Blade_ go, the massive bulk creating enormous splashes in the surf and drawing _Leatherback’s_ attention away from the prone Jaeger standing helpless in the face of imminent destruction.

 _Angel Blade_ assumes a fighting stance.

“That’s right! Kick his ass Dean!” Jo screams victoriously.

 _Angel Blade_ pivots away from a direct charge from _Leatherback_ , exposing the kaiju’s back and EMP organ to their attack. _Angel Blade_ rips the sac of sparking blue flesh clean off the kaiju’s back, _Leatherback_ roaring in pain and rage, and spins around angrily only to meet with a crushing right hook to the face.

“Fuck yeah!” Dean crows.

 _Angel Blade_ follows with a rapid-fire series of punches and kicks easily recognizable from Dean and Cas’ sparring match several days prior, their movements fluid and completely in sync with one another as the Jaeger engages _Leatherback_ in a deadly ballet. _Angel Blade_ pushes _Leatherback_ straight back into the metal containers littering the loading docks, driving the kaiju between a series of buildings to box it in. _Angel Blade’s_ grip slips minutely, allowing _Leatherback_ to pick up the Jaeger and fling it three hundred yards away over the shipping yard to crash through several rows of construction vehicles and equipment.

 _Angel Blade_ quickly regroups and with some quick footwork, jumping nimbly from the tops of the rows of metal containers, leaps right back into the fray. Jaeger and kaiju clash in midair and fall to the deck, scattering equipment and knocking shipping containers askew like Lego. _Angel Blade_ aims a solid uppercut to _Leatherback’s_ lower jaw and knocks it onto its back to skid long the dock, the rocky carapace screeching deafeningly against the concrete and crushing small buildings on the way.

 _Leatherback_ flips itself over and rises to meet the Jaeger, grasping an old crane like a baseball bat and craning _Angel Blade_ upside the head, forcing the Jaeger down onto one knee.

Inside the Conn-Pod, Cas gasps with pain as the blow glances onto the left side of the cockpit and crackles along the neurosynapses of his fighter suit.

“Cas! Are you alright man?” Dean asks frantically, the pain filtering through their connected consciousness.

Cas visibly gathers himself up, his eyes narrowing dangerously, “Don’t ask stupid questions,” he growls.

 _Leatherback_ continues to hammer away at the kneeling Jaeger, Dean and Cas bracing themselves within the cockpit and slowly leaning _Angel Blade_ back, waiting for the opportune moment to strike back. _Leatherback_ gets cocky and rolls back for a stronger punch, giving _Angel Blade_ the space to slide outwards and up to deliver a stunningly violent blow to the kaiju’s face, spattering the deck with corrosive blue blood.

 _Leatherback_ reeled away, reeling from the attack, providing _Angel Blade_ with the perfect opportunity to strike. Grabbing two handfuls of the metal shipping containers _Angel Blade_ smashes them on either side of _Leatherback’s_ head, causing the kaiju to stumble again, this time with its head lowered to the ground.

“Dean!”

“Yeah Cas I got it!”

 _Angel Blade_ cocks its right arm upwards with the knuckle facing down at _Leatherback’s_ head, and unloads the elbow rocket. The turbo charged blow to the top of the beast’s head causes it to howl in pain, giving _Angel Blade_ ample time to charge the plasma cannons on the Jaeger’s left arm.

 _Angel Blade_ fires the first plasma blast into _Leatherback’s_ right shoulder and knocks it back several paces, giving them more space to aim. _Angel Blade_ fires again, the second blast blowing away pieces of _Leatherback’s_ outer shell and blowing over shipping containers like beach balls.

And still the kaiju keeps coming.

 _Leatherback_ locks it’s massive clawed arms around _Angel Blade’s_ shoulders in an attempted headlock, causing the Jaeger to buckle under the immense pressure from the kaiju’s onslaught. But _Leatherback’s_ proximity to the plasma cannons works in their favour, Cas taking over the plasma cannon and aiming at it’s soft underbelly while Dean continues to use their right arm to grapple with the kaiju.

The plasma canons fire for a third time. The energy blasts away the thick breastplate armour and scorches away the flesh underneath to gouge out chunks of bone. _Leatherback_ screeches and falls back to lie on its side, completely open and vulnerable to attack. The smell of charred meat and rancid blood carries over the harbour and wafts through the smoke created from the smoking pits of kaiju blood eating away at the metal and concrete of the dock. The gaping hole smoking away in _Leatherback’s_ chest exposing the strange and meaty organs from within.

“It’s down,” Cas reports tersely.

“Hey, I made that mistake once and I don’t intend on doing it again,” says Dean. “Let me check for a pulse.”

 _Angel Blade’s_ plasma canon angles down to aim straight at _Leatherback’s_ chest. The blasts tear into the blue flesh, tearing bone and sinew and organ apart and charring the meat around them. The plasma blasts continue until the canon is nearly overheated and the former kaiju looks more like the sad remnants of a child’s piñata scattered all over the shipping yard.

“Would you look at that!” Dean calls out gleefully over the conn, trying not to grin too wide over the raucous cheering coming from the LOCCENT. “No pulse!”

Cas laughs, clear as a bell and high on adrenaline, “One down, one more to go.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Enormous fractured chunks of concrete tumble into the shelter as _Otachi_ claws it’s way into the room, terrified refugees scrambling towards the shadowed walls away from the center of the room and the kaiju’s hungry mouth. Even Sam, having seen every kind of kaiju possible in service with the PPDC, is finding it hard to believe what he is seeing.

The beast’s head thrusts itself deeper into the shelter, close enough that Sam can count the individual scales armouring the kaiju’s head and even the beagle-sized skin parasites crawling between them. The most terrifying part of the spectacle is the massive scorch marks and bloody lacerations littering the beast’s skin, proof of the Jaegers’ inability to defeat it.

It lowers its grotesque snout down into the shelter, towards Sam’s shocked and prone form shaking alone in the center of the room. Nobody wants to be near the giant white dude with a rabid kaiju on his trail.

Sam clutches his head, briefly seeing double, the kaiju’s sensory spectrum superimposed over his own and confusing him with the image of himself through _Otachi’s_ eyes. A glowing blue tendril slides out it’s mouth and wriggles through the opening in the ceiling to scrape along the floor until it stops in front of Sam, tasting the air around him.

Dimly, Sam realizes he shouldn’t be spending precious seconds where he could be fleeing admiring the genetic makeup of this massive killing being.

 _“What an organism,”_ Sam thinks, barely aware of the imminent threat beyond his own shock and panic. _“Bioluminescent, probably millions of years ahead of the human’s sensory spectrum, capable of extreme plasticity but also highly armoured… and this was created!”_

Sam sobers up quickly, realizing that he’s hearing a disjointed version of the kaiju’s thoughts, not telepathy no, but a muted echo of the neurophysiology of the drift similar to the drift hangover he experiences with Dean. The neural pathways between Sam’s brain and _Otachi’s_ start to bleed into the human’s consciousness, creating a two-way street just like Crowley predicted.  Sam shivers as he feels the distant influence of the Precursors radiate through the mental link with _Otachi_ , growing hot with anger as he realizes it wants to pry information and thoughts from his brain.

 _“No fucking WAY are you going to rip my synapses apart for your counter-intelligence shit you bastards!_ ” Sam snarls internally, hoping beyond hope that a Jaeger will suddenly crash through the buildings to save him.

As if reading his mind, the kaiju’s consciousness flickers across Sam’s vision, showing images of smoking metal hulls, crackling electricity, and violently blue kaiju blood. The _Archangel’s_ destruction with its head torn clean off, the _Vampirate_ sinking beneath the waves with its screaming pilots trapped inside, and the _Roadhouse_ standing tall and proud and utterly useless in the water.

Sam steps forward, his legs shivering and feeling like any second he’ll be violently ill right in front of everyone, and stares straight at _Otachi_.

And it knew him.

They stand there at an impasse, the synapses firing away between their minds and their consciousness’ battling for control, until a beam of bright searchlight pins the kaiju in place, the telltale sounds of the Jumphawk blades slicing through the air above them. Sam blinks in the face of the blinding light, barely able to make out anything beyond the vastness of the kaiju and the tiny movements of the aircraft up above.

Until…

 _“Oh,_ ” Sam thinks incoherently. _“But I thought all the Jaegers were…”_

Comprehension doesn’t come as gradually to Sam as he would’ve liked, it slams into his mind like a runaway freight train and makes his blood thrum with energy as he realizes that his big brother is coming to his rescue.

The soul-shaking sound of _Angel Blade’s_ foghorn blasts away the fog of fear in Sam’s body. He knows the sound so intimately, having fought inside it and with it for years, and he would never be able to forget it. Sam scrabbles up the hill of rubble and carefully picks his way around the debris left in the wake of _Otachi’s_ retreat from the bunker. He arrives at the lip of the cavern just in time to watch _Angel Blade_ face off against _Otachi_.

And then Sam stops.

_Un-freaking-believable._

Sam laughs, mildly hysterical, at the sight of _Angel Blade_ standing proudly in the middle of two enormous skyscrapers holding the still-dripping form of a massive oil tanker, brandishing it like a hundred-meter sword.

 _Otachi_ screeches angrily and charges straight at Angel _Blade_ as the Jaeger levels the tanker at its head, clubbing the beast hard enough to knock it back clear through several smaller office buildings. The kaiju recovers from the blow and rears up on its elongated front legs, its clawed tail weaving dangerously in the air behind it. _Angel Blade_ once more swings the tanker down in an arc, hoping to cleave the head in two, but the kaiju’s prehensile tail is quicker and snaps up the ship, only to toss it down the highway to rest precariously wedged horizontally between two skyscrapers.

The Jaeger tenses into the classic defensive stance as _Otachi_ charges it, slamming _Angel Blade_ through a skyscraper, glass shattering beautifully around them, and out the other side onto a secondary highway. Sam stands there incomprehensibly as the building collapses onto the ground, sending up a tidal wave of dust, debris, and glass.  Sam wipes absently at his face, and pulls his hand away to find it wet with blood, several shards of glass embedded in his skin. Muffled scuffling sounds from behind Sam make him turn around, realizing that other civilians are trying to get out of the decimated bunker. He grabs a metal pipe and begins shifting the rubble away to clear an exit path, aided by the first wave of the civilians climbing through the hole and invigorated by the unorthodox arrival of Dean and Cas.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean swears colourfully as they dodge yet another lunge from _Otachi’s_ prehensile tail, nearly toppling an ancient temple over onto fleeing civilians. When the tail isn’t attacking them, its talons are raking across armour; all while the kaiju’s mouth is keeping up a constant stream of saliva. It spits and drools all over the place, gobs of corrosive acid splattering buildings and the Jaeger and everything else within range.

Cas’ mind takes over the manoeuvring of the Jaeger, gracefully weaving out of the way of the kaiju’s limbs and deadly saliva while Dean concentrates on keeping the tail at bay, their combined efforts barely keeping them out of _Otachi’s_ reach. The clawed limb snaps through the air like a whip, the razor sharp edges barely grazing the Jaeger as Cas nimbly pirouettes out of the way, Dean catching the tail as they finish the turn.

 _Otachi_ screams and thrashes but _Angel Blade_ holds fast to the tail, bracing itself against the onslaught of movement from the infuriated kaiju. It gives up trying to free its tail from their grip and opens it’s mouth to fire a glob of acid at them from point blank range, its throat heaving like a cat with a hairball with the effort of bringing up the acid. Dean’s mind moves reflexively as he registers the gaping maw of the kaiju, and plunges his the left hand straight in and rips out the acid sac, _Otachi_ gurgling in pain and confusion. The distraction provided by the sudden lack of acid spewing gives Cas the leverage he needs to dispense with the prehensile nightmare currently trying to crush their right arm. He opens the ventilation ports on the right side and lets out a steady stream of motor coolant directly against the tail, crusting it over with a three-foot thick sheet of ice and completely immobilizing the claws.

Cas’ face splits in a cruel facsimile of a smile as he jerks _Angel Blade’s_ right arm down and back, snapping the vertebra like a dry autumn twig and ripping the clawed limb right off its body, the flesh tearing with a sound like ripping fabric. The frozen tail shatters and falls to the street in fragments as _Angel Blade_ shakes itself off and gets some distance.

But _Otachi_ shakes itself like a wet dog, and suddenly stretches out its forearms, unfurling wings from the massive limbs and leaping onto _Angel Blade_ to knock her on her back. The claws on the rear feet latch deeply into the chest circuitry of the Jaeger and it launches into the air with a great heave, the hideous leathery wings beating so strongly that some cars fly backwards into the street, beating slowly but gathering speed to pull away from the sprawling neon city below.

The great winged kaiju lifts itself away from the city, carrying _Angel Blade_ in its claws as it ascends into the storm-darkened sky, the Jaeger fighting and pounding at the _Otachi’s_ lower body. The Jaeger is lifted further into the sky, its blows on the beast weakening, until it’s too far up for the human eye to see.

Dean is weirdly glad of the distinct lack of tail on _Otachi_ as they are carried further up into the storm, relieved to only be fending off attacks from the beast’s claws. Beside him, Cas snarls into the conn, trying to bring _Angel Blade’s_ legs up far enough to give the kaiju a solid kick to the gut. But the further upwards they go, the less chance they have of making a controlled descent.

The inside of the LOCCENT is buzzing with anxiety.

“Boys you’re at seven miles,” warns Balthazar, his face tight with stress.

“Yeah, we’re _aware of that_ thanks!” Dean snarks back.

“At least we won’t be in any danger of overheating,” Cas interjects sarcastically. The temperature outside is well below zero and _Angel Blade_ is shedding enough waste heat out of the holes in the armour from _Otachi’s_ acid to be a problem back at sea level. In the atmosphere, it’s a slightly more manageable problem.

“Hah! Very funny,” says Balthazar, his hands flying over the controls. “We’ve got… shit. Dean, we’ve got nothing. We can’t help you!”

Dean snorts, “I’ve always been the self-sufficient type.”

Then Dean cocks his head to the side, as if listening in on a conversation happening on the other side of a crowded room, and feels Cas’ mind working at breakneck speeds on a problem that his conscious mind doesn’t have the bandwidth to process.

“How is it still breathing this high? How can its wings give it enough lift this high in the atmosphere?” Cas growls.

“I don’t know? Sammy would know more about that than me!” Dean struggles with the spluttering plasma cannons and swears. “Now how are we gonna kill this son of a bitch? Both plasma cannons are shot and we’ve got no more- ”

“We still have one of my upgrades left,” says Cas, his fingers already punching in the emergency manoeuvre codes.

“And _why_ didn’t you tell me about this fancy upgrade earlier?”

“Please, you would’ve seen it if you’d looked.”

“Son of a bitch- ”

“Boys!” yells Balthazar exasperatedly. “Save the world now, flirt later!”

“We’re _not_ flirting you mouthy little- ”

“Altitude coming up on fifty-thousand feet,” Balthazar interrupts.

Dean looks into the glowing display near his control panel and sees a tiny yellow sword icon flashing brilliantly; he feels Cas flick his wrist out and duplicates the motion smoothly.

From _Angel Blade’s_ right gauntlet springs a long whip made from serrated metal segments woven together with a high-tension cable, spilling out into the night. Cas clenches his fist again and Dean does the same, anticipating the fight even though he knows nothing about what Cas is up to. The whip stiffens and the individual links knit together, drawing together with a sharp rattling clank that vibrates throughout the Jaeger. The sword snaps together with a final series of clicks, gleaming dangerously in the gloom.

“Are we ready to slice this bastard up?” Dean yells, feeling the weight of the sword on his arm through the drift.

“Let’s finish this!” Cas cries out.

Together they push away from _Otachi_ for a few meters of space critical for the sword to move, and suddenly there is a slim line of light through the kaiju’s body. The sword is so thin and moves so fast that Dean only has time to register their combined attack and the sudden lack of movement from the kaiju. _Otachi’s_ wings curl inwards like a puppet with its strings cut, one of them coming loose and falling away with an enormous chunk of the upper torso and head, the lower body and second wing falling cleanly away.

Dean laughs, “What even _was_ that thing?” giddy with their improbable victory.

“I call it the chain sword,” Cas replies, immeasurably smug.

In the background of the LOCCENT feed the pilots can hear Marshalls Turner and Singer ordering the recovery teams and choppers to head out immediately.

“Jumphawks launch! Get everyone out there!” Marshall Turner orders.

And then _Angel Blade_ starts to fall.

Dean’s mind reels as Cas’ mind starts spewing out incredible calculations, the speed of their descent versus the length of their fall with their possible stopping options. The math is pretty clear. Less than fifty thousand feet to the ground, with an average of nine-point-eight meters per second to fall, and taking the atmospheric resistance into consideration: they will hit the ground in a little under three minutes going approximately two-hundred miles per hour. Even falling spread-eagled will do little to minimize the damage of such a landing. Regardless, Dean and Cas adopt the stance to try to slow their descent.

The pieces of _Otachi_ fall alongside them, oddly beautiful with thin streams of luminescent blue blood trailing upwards like ribbons at a fair.

There is a shuffling over the conn, “ _Angel Blade_! Listen to me!” Bobby’s voice comes in loud and clear over the speakers. “In theory this should work.”

“In _theory_?” Dean yells. “Bobby we don’t want to be a test for one of your _theories_!”

“You shut your mouth boy and listen to me you hear?” Bobby growls. “Loosen every shock absorber in the Jaeger, you’re gonna need every bit of hydraulic give that machine can give you if you don’t wanna end up like a bug on a windshield!”

Cas does as commanded while Dean helps ready the Jaeger for impact.

“Done,” Cas reports, his face tight and closed off as their heads-up display shows the time to impact at less than a minute and a half.

“Use the gyroscope to balance,” Bobby commands. “Ball up and hold on. Sorry boys but this is gonna hurt something awful.”

Dean swipes through the command series to engage the gyroscopes, keeping them steady in midair. Then he and Cas share a single knowing look before curling themselves, and _Angel Blade_ , into a ball and bracing for impact. The roar of wind passing around them is deafening, their descent screeching through their air like an uncontrollable freight train, Balthazar’s unsteady voice counting down the seconds to their landing barely audible in the background.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From inside the LOCCENT _Angel Blade’s_ impact looks like a meteor strike, hitting the Hong Kong Stadium and collapsing an entire side of it. Debris gets thrown about and rains down on everything within a hundred meter radius, a massive wave of dust and smoke erupting from the crash site, creating dirty brown rain to slough against nearby buildings.

The Conn-Pod from _Angel Blade’s_ cockpit is dark.

“Balthazar, get that damn feed up!” Bobby snaps.

“It’s unresponsive sir!”

“Jumphawks! What can you see?” demands Marshall Turner.

“Nothing sir,” one of the pilots radios in, his voice crackling over the weak frequency. “There’s too much dust and debris, no visible motion.”

For several immeasurably long seconds the LOCCENT is frozen in suspense, the camera feed playing across the display screen showing the swirling clouds of dust and rain clearing out the ruins of the stadium. Suddenly, barely visible through the storm, a section of the Jaeger’s immense leg becomes visible.

“Come in closer,” orders Turner. “We need to clear that dust and get a visual on them.”

The Jumphawks wing closer to the impact site, their beating of their blades blowing away the spread of aerial debris and clearing the air. And there is _Angel Blade_...

Standing up!

Cheers explode from the LOCCENT – even Marshall Turner cracking a wide grin at the sight – Jumphawk pilots whoop excitedly over the conn as they peel away from the recovering Jaeger, their spotlights wreathing _Angel Blade_ in a halo of glowing white light as it rises to its full height.

Their conn switches back on and lights up the LOCCENT once more.

“Report!” Bobby laughs.

“You okay?” asks Dean, his face splitting in a wide grin as his eyes softening as he takes stock of Cas’ injuries.

“Yeah…” Cas says, breathing heavily and looking mildly pleased. He looks around the wrecked cockpit with a distracted look on his face but doesn’t seem particularly interested in the damage. In fact, Dean thinks he’s never seen Cas look happier or more confident.

“That felt… good,” Cas says, their bond vibrating with life through the drift.

“Damn right it did,” Dean’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at his co-pilot, warmth and love singing through the drift bright and clear.

And suddenly, they’re laughing so hard that tears stream down their faces, clutching their stomachs and doubling over with misplaced mirth.

“Shut up and get your dumb asses back to base,” Bobby says, amusement and relief colouring his voice. “We need both remaining Jaegers back to one-hundred perfect functionality within eight hours. So hurry the hell up!”


End file.
